merry christmas with love
by viennacantabile
Summary: Nine different Christmases, nine different couples, nine different kinds of love. Merry Christmas!
1. one: santa baby

Disclaimer: I own nothing except Graziella's brother, Fred. And even then, **HedgehogQuill** and I have joint custody there. And also, kudos to **SheWhoDreamsByDarkness-x**, who came up with a very brilliant idea which I will tell you more about at the end of the story. :)

Note: So I know that this is way early for a Christmas fic, but as I have eight more chapters planned, I figure that if I start posting now, I can _finish_ around Christmas. I hope. Anyway, each chapter takes its title and theme from a Christmas song, be it traditional, popular, or carol, and focuses on a different Jet couple. And also, I make no pretensions about this fic: it is going to be nine chapters of fluff, pure and simple. Any dates mentioned are based on the movie occurring in June of 1957. I hope you enjoy it; more info at the end. :)

Note the Second: So I totally lied; this morphed into something other than what I expected and is not simply fluff anymore. Rather, it's an examination of nine different kinds of love, because really, in the end, that's what Christmas is all about.

For: some very lovely people I know: **HedgehogQuill**, **SheWhoDreamsByDarknes****s-x**, **xXc0okieSsNcrEamXx**, and **Megfly**, all of whom are very special and amazing. But this chapter in particular is dedicated to **cookies**, who is just about the biggest fan of this pairing ever, and writes the most adorable fluff about them. I heart you, cookies. :)

—viennacantabile

* * *

merry christmas with love

one : santa baby

_...in which Graziella gets the gimmes_.

.

Well, Mr. Claus, I feel as though I know ya  
So you won't mind if I should get familiar, will ya?

.

Christmas Eve, 1956

.

"Baby," said Graziella flirtatiously as she climbed onto Riff's lap, "what're ya gettin' me for Christmas?"

It was the day before Christmas, and Graziella had asked her boyfriend the same question every day since Thanksgiving. And unless Riff felt like being creative, he always gave her the same answer—"I ain't tellin' ya, so quit askin'." Today, though, was apparently one of those creative days:

"How d'ya know I'm gettin' ya anythin'?" he teased, leaning against the headboard of her bed and winding his forefinger through a strand of her hair.

Graziella's lips turned down into a pout. "Aww, Riff, ya wouldn' do that to me, would ya?" she whined.

Riff smirked. "I might, if ya don't stop askin' about it."

The redhead huffed. "It's just a _question_, Riffy-baby; I can ask a _question_, can't I?" Of course, Graziella knew that she didn't really _want_ to know what Riff was going to give her for Christmas. And if he had actually started to tell her, she probably would have whacked him across the face with her purse to shut him up, because Graziella loved nothing better than surprises—at least, as long as they were _good_ surprises.

No, thought Graziella wistfully, what she really wanted was the reassurance that Riff _was_ thinking about her present, that he _was_ going to get her something, and that he _wasn't_ going to forget, just like he had for her her half-birthday and her nameday and their one-week anniversary and all those other terribly important occasions. She hated to admit it, but, looking at the less-than-serious grin currently plastered across her boyfriend's face, Graziella wasn't exactly sure that he would remember Christmas all by himself.

Riff snorted. "Well, maybe," he allowed, taking advantage of her spot on his lap to settle his hands around her waist, "but I ain't promisin' ya I'll answer it."

Graziella arched an eyebrow. "I bet ya haven' even thought about it," she accused half-seriously. "D'ya even know what I'd want?"

"A'course," nodded Riff, very seriously. "Ya want a hippopotamus, just like that damn song."

"_Riff_!" Graziella scolded in exasperation, hitting him on the shoulder. Riff was such a little boy that if she let him run with that lousy joke, she'd end up with the Jets depositing a stolen hippopotamus on her fire escape, two very unamused parents, and an annoyed Krupke at the front door, she thought, rolling her eyes. "A'course not!"

"Okay, okay," Riff said, lifting his hands up in a gesture of defeat. "Whaddaya want?"

Graziella grinned. _Finally_. But as all the Jet girls knew, it was never advisable to make things too easy for boys, and she certainly wasn't about to do that now. "Nothin'," she said sweetly. "Just you."

Riff's mouth dropped open. "But ya just—"

"Oh, well, if you insist," interrupted Graziella quickly, happily putting her arms around him as Riff goggled at her. It had been half-true, anyway. "I wouldn' mind a nice warm mink coat, or some diamonds, or even a really nice car," she mused innocently.

Riff rolled his eyes. "Quit playin', Graz."

Graziella giggled. "I ain't playin'," she protested, pretending to be hurt. "Can't a girl like a little luxury?"

"Yeah," Riff grumbled, "when _she's_ payin' for it."

Drawing back, Graziella frowned. "When've ya ever paid for my luxury?" she demanded, half-playfully but half-seriously, too. "Or even anythin'? We always sneak into movies an' dances an' anythin' that needs more'n a nickel, Riff!"

Riff shrugged, the tips of his ears turning red. "Well, ya never complained about it before," he muttered. "'Sides," he went on defensively, "that's what all us Jets do. Ya really think we wanna throw our cash at those dumb places?"

"Hmph, _well_," huffed Graziella severely, crossing her arms, "you shoulda seen the bracelet Ice gave Vel, 'just 'cause,' he said. An' they ain't even been goin' together half a year! _Some_ Jets don' mind treatin' their girls like they deserve._Includin'_ ponyin' up the greenbacks."

Riff rolled his eyes. "Jesus, y'know, sometimes I wish I hadna set 'em up," he groused, "'f all he's ever gonna do now is moon around like some lost puppy an' make me look bad."

Graziella pouted. "Wasn' bein' alone with me worth it, though?" she asked coquettishly, pressing up against him and batting her eyelashes. "She _coulda_ just kept comin' along on all our dates, y'know. I wouldna minded."

Riff heaved a long-suffering sigh. "I _guess_ it was worth it, then," he said mock-reluctantly.

Graziella stuck her tongue out at him and hit him lightly on the shoulder. "Riffy-pie, if ya ain't good, I might not give ya _your_ Christmas present," she warned testily.

Riff snorted. "Oh, _anythin_' but missin' out on another one'a them framed pictures of ya," he cracked. He paused. "Not that I don' like 'em, or anythin'," he added belatedly.

Graziella flushed. "No, way better'n that," she insisted. Damn, she thought, what in the world was she going to give him now?

Riff raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Is it…?" He let his sentence trail off, winking suggestively at her.

Graziella shook her head, trying to hide her sudden uncertainty. "If ya ain't tellin' me, I ain't tellin' you," she said primly, making a mental note to figure out what in the world he was talking about and add two of those to his Christmas present. She'd probably have to call Velma, and the twins, and Pauline, and maybe even Minnie for ideas…. "'Sides, if ya ain't good, you ain't _never_ gonna know," she smirked. "So you'd just better behave, Riff Lorton!"

Grinning back at her, Riff pinched her in a spot that made her squeal. "Oh, you betcha I will, Graz."

.

Graziella sighed. Ten o'clock at night on Christmas day, and Riff still wasn't here.

"Where's Riff?" whined Fred for the thirtieth time, bouncing around the living room. "Why ain't he here yet?"

Graziella glared at her brother. "Gee, I _dunno_, Fred," she huffed. "Ya think I'd be sittin' out here waitin' for him if I knew that?"

Fred pouted. "But I wanna give him his Christmas present," he complained, waving a lumpy green and red package around.

"Well, so do I!" Graziella snapped, crossing her arms. "An' don't you stick around when he gets here! He's _my_boyfriend, not _your_ buddy!"

Fred's mouth dropped open. "But _Graz_—"

Graziella scowled. "Go play with Chris an' Liesl. I'm goin' to my room," she announced, getting up and stalking away. As she entered her room and locked the door behind her, Graziella's heart leapt at the sight of a dark shape on her bed. After her eyes adjusted to the darkness, though, she frowned. It was Riff, all right, but the wrong Riff.

"Meow," protested her cat as she turned on her bedside lamp and slumped onto her bed.

"Hiya, Riff," Graziella sighed, picking him and sulkily petting him. "_You_ love me, don't ya? At least _you're_ here," she cooed to the cat, who merely stared grumpily back at her, apparently annoyed that she had woken it up. "_You_wouldn' let me down on Christmas, _would_ ya, Riffy-poo? _You_ wouldn' forget to even come get the Christmas present I spent ages figurin' out for ya, would ya?" Graziella sighed. "I bet you'd even have one for me."

As if in answer, the cat gave a bored hiss and swiped lazily at her hand.

"Oh, _fine_, be like that!" she snapped, pushing him off her lap and onto the floor in disgust. Cat-Riff landed, as all cats did, on his feet, and just gave her a baleful glare before sauntering into her closet and settling in for the night.

Graziella rubbed at her prickling eyes. Even the cat didn't love her. What a lousy Christmas, she thought bitterly. Thanks for nothing, Santa. With a sigh, she lay down on top of her comforter, hugging a pillow. "Fine, just _don't_show up, Riff Lorton, it ain't as if I give a damn," she grumbled. "Even if ya showed up, I wouldn' let ya in, anyhow!"

"Uh…so ya want me to leave, then?" a bemused voice asked.

Graziella sat up straight. "_Riff_?" she squeaked. Then, after she'd gotten some control over her voice, she settled back and glared through the dim light at the boy who had just climbed through her open window. "You're late."

"Aww, c'mon, Graziella," cajoled Riff, bounding over and plopping down next to her with an irresistible grin, "don' be mad. I'm here, ain't I?"

"Only three hours late," she reminded him. In spite of herself, though, Graziella was beginning to soften; one thing about Riff was that it was so difficult to stay mad at him, even if she really wanted to be. Which she did. It was just hard to remember when he smiled at her like that. "Where were ya, anyway? Out playin' with the Jets? Don't any'a them know it's Christmas?"

"Well, actually, uh—" He coughed. Graziella peered at him; was Riff actually blushing? "I was, um—aww, here," he said uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. He thrust a flat, square box at her. "Merry Christmas, Graz."

Graziella stared at him. "Riff?"

The Jet avoided her gaze. "So, ya gonna open it, or what?"

Graziella tore her eyes away from the very unfamiliar sight of Riff at loss for words and looked at the gift in her hands. "So's this why I put up with ya?" she asked, the playfulness returning to her voice. "'Cause every now an' then, ya do somethin' that proves ya maybe ain't so bad, after all?"

Riff grinned, at ease again. "Huh, maybe, but I'm thinkin' it's 'cause I'm so cute."

Graziella giggled, hitting him lightly on the shoulder as a small, surprised smile came to her lips. "Well, ya got that right," she conceded as she slipped the lid from the box. "An' don' forget the se—oh, Riff," she breathed, awestruck. "Ya got this for _me_?"

It wasn't a car, or a mink, or even diamonds, but the gently curving gold bracelet nestled inside the box was _hers_, and Graziella was touched, all the same.

"Well, yeah," Riff shrugged, ducking his head. "Saw it an' thought'a you." He glanced up, grinning. "Ya like it?"

Graziella mentally scolded herself—it didn't do to let him know how happy he'd made her—and pasted a nonchalant expression on her face. "It ain't bad," she allowed. "I mean, I know ya prob'ly just took it outta the window…"

"Actually, I bought it up front," Riff admitted sheepishly. He grinned. "I mean, I hadda nab the money off a coupla drunks to get it with, but I did buy it."

Graziella's mouth dropped open. "Oh, _Riff_!" she squealed, tossing all coyness to the wind and throwing her arms around him, "ya _do_ love me!"

"Well, um—I might," Riff choked out, a tinge of desperation coloring his voice, "but—Graz, um, don'tcha wanna try it on?"

"Oh, right!" said Graziella happily, instantly letting go of him. She held out her wrist. "Put it on, okay?"

As Riff complied, darting wary looks at her the whole time, Graziella couldn't keep the smile off her face. It was, she decided happily as she admired the way the light flickered off the gold of the bracelet, the best Christmas ever. And Riff was the best boyfriend ever, too, and he was definitely going to love his—

"Oh!" she exclaimed, hand flying to her mouth, "Riff, baby, I ain't given ya _your_ present yet!" Hopping off of her bed, Graziella crouched down on the floor and began rooting around underneath the bedskirt. "You're gonna love it, ya really will," she called, her voice slightly muffled.

Riff laughed nervously. "Y'know, Graz, it's really okay, I don't really need another scrapboo—"

"_Here_ it is," said Graziella triumphantly, fishing out a small mauve shopping bag with the letters "MM" written in black script on both sides.

"Ya got me somethin' from Madame Mouchoir's Boudoir?" asked Riff tentatively, staring at the bag.

Graziella tittered. "So, ya gonna open it, or what?"

Riff glanced from her to the bag. "I guess I'm gonna," he muttered, still looking bemused. Rooting around through layers of tissue paper, he pulled out a tiny slip of paper. "What's this?" he asked, wrinkling his forehead.

"Read it, Riffy-puddin'," said Graziella sweetly, licking her lips.

Riff's eyebrows shot up as he reached the end of the scribbled writing. "You're _jokin_'!" he yelped, eyes wide as he shot her an incredulous glance.

Graziella smirked, already reaching for his belt. "Only if ya think it's funny."

And, as Pauline had promised over the phone the previous evening, Graziella found that the kind of Christmas present Riff liked the most was, indeed, best given—and received—in private.

.

.end.

* * *

I hope you enjoyed it, as it's probably the happiest thing I'll ever write about Graziella. :) And **SheWhoDreamsByDarkness-x****'s** amazing contribution was Graziella's cat, also named Riff. Because, as she so accurately pointed out, that is just something that Graziella would do.

Music: Besides the "Santa Baby" recorded by Cynthia Basinet (she's the one who sounds like Marilyn Monroe), I listened to Emilie-Claire Barlow's fantastic version from her 2006 album _Winter Wonderland_, which is where I got the two-line lyric intro used at the beginning of the fic. She is absolutely incredible, please go listen to her. :)

Hint: Next up: Action+Pauline. :)


	2. two: jingle bell rock

Disclaimer: All I own is the use of Bernice's name specific to **LCV Productions'** interpretation of her character. :) Oh, and also, Midge, the best OC in the history of ever, belongs to **Megfly**, who was kind enough to let me borrow her. :)

Note: Wow, an update! :) Thanks, you six wonderful wonderful people ohemgee, for your fantastic reviews of the last chapter; I hope you like this one just as much. In terms of language and happy raunchy fun time, this is probably the most suggestive any of the chapters will be, as it _is_ Action and Pauline, after all. As always, any dates mentioned are based on the movie occurring in June of 1957. Further notes at the end!

For: some very lovely people I know: **HedgehogQuill**, **SheWhoDreamsByDarknes****s-x**, **xXc0okieSsNcrEamXx**, and **Megfly**, all of whom are very special and amazing. But this chapter in particular is dedicated to******SheWhoDreamsByDarknes****s-**x, who is the nicest mod ever and who is both an amazing Action RP-er and the writer of a really wonderful oneshot on Pauline. You're incredible, squishy. :)

—viennacantabile

* * *

merry christmas with love

two : jingle bell rock

_...in which Pauline rocks Action's jingle be—yeah._

.

What a bright time! It's the right time  
To rock the night away  
Jingle bell time is a swell time  
To go gliding in a one-horse sleigh

Giddy-up jingle horse, pick up your feet  
Jingle around the clock  
Mix and a-mingle in the jingling feet  
That's the jingle bell,  
That's the jingle bell,  
That's the jingle bell rock.

.

Christmas Eve, 1957

.

"God, I hate Christmas," Action grumbled. He was sitting in the back of Doc's with his feet propped up on a table, balefully watching the rest of the Jets and their girls lounge around amid the battered Christmas decorations Doc had put up.

Baby John and Minnie were happily decorating a Christmas tree in the back corner. Action snorted. It really was funny. Every once in a while, they'd bump into each other, light up _exactly_ like the damn tree, and drop an ornament or two for good measure. He didn't get why Baby John was still so jittery around his girl; after all, they'd been going together for a few months already and it certainly wasn't as if Minnie minded him at all. In fact, they seemed like a match made in heaven, Action observed, rolling his eyes as Minnie handed Baby John a candy cane—upon feeling their fingers brushing together, both of them turned bright red.

Bernice and Gee-Tar, though, that was a different story. Action didn't know how the hell _that_ had happened, except that maybe she was the only one who would put up with his whining. Action frowned. That was the thing, though, most of Gee-Tar's whining was about Bernice's twin, Clarice, and Action didn't see why Bernice would put up with that. Gee-Tar had to be a really good lay, then, he judged, before shuddering at the thought of that. But there really was no other explanation, he thought sourly, and it was definitely going to be a temporary thing. They didn't even_look_ happy; Bernice was sitting on a stool with her arms folded, gabbing away to Graziella and completely ignoring Gee-Tar's arm around her waist. Action was pretty sure Gee-Tar didn't care though; he was busy darting surreptitious glances at Clarice, who was cuddling with Big Deal in a spot uncomfortably close to Action and whispering something he didn't understand but sounded vaguely like whatever language his upstairs neighbors were always yelling in. Except that, judging by the expression on Big Deal's face, whatever Clarice was saying probably didn't translate to "Get out of the house, asshole."

Action shifted in his seat, trying to avoid the sickeningly sweet aura of happiness he could practically feel radiating from that area, which was occupied by not only Clarice and Big Deal, but Ice and Velma. They were tucked away in their usual corner behind the pinball machine, lost in their own little world as usual. Action scowled, watching Velma giggle from her spot on Ice's lap as the Jet leader looped his arms around her waist, grinning like an idiot. Why the hell were they so damn happy all the time? It wasn't as if there was anything to _be_ happy about, this Christmas. Sure, they'd come to an uneasy truce with the Sharks, but the Musclers were sniffing around and Ice had to keep his mind on the Jets and not on his girl if they were going to hold their turf. Action sighed. Sometimes, he thought he was the only one who still cared about that anymore.

Snowboy and Joyboy definitely didn't look like they gave a damn whose territory they were on, thought Action irritably. The Boyer twins were playing a very roundabout game of checkers, in which Snowboy, from what Action could tell, was spending most of the time practicing his cute little stand-up comic routine in an effort to cover up the fact that he was playing like a crooked dealer. Joyboy wasn't having any of it, though; every time Snowboy oh-so-nonchalantly tipped a piece too many spaces forward, Joyboy's hand darted forward and corrected it. Action sighed. He could tell that this game, like every other game of checkers he'd watched the twins play, wasn't going to be over anytime soon.

He definitely couldn't trust the kids to keep the Jets on course, either, thought Action with a scowl as he shifted his gaze to the very intense dart contest that was going on between A-Rab and Anybodys. Every so often, one would accuse the other of cheating, never mind the fact that it was practically impossible to cheat at darts, thought Action, rolling his eyes, and then a scuffle would break out. He'd almost gotten used to Anybodys being counted as one of the gang—after all, it wasn't as if she was around any more than she had been before Ice had let her in—but it didn't mean he liked it. She was too much of a distraction for all of them, Action thought, too much of a weakness, and A-Rab, especially, seemed to let her get under his skin a little too much. Why, Action had no idea, but then, A-Rab was really just a kid, after all. Even if he was a Jet, and a pretty good one, at that.

At least he wasn't as dumb as Mouthpiece, Action conceded grudgingly, watching the tall Jet spout off some stupid shit about hippopotamuses to Minnie's friend Midge, who, Action had to admit, was putting up with Mouthpiece pretty well, only stopping to sigh every once in awhile. But then, supposed Action, rolling his eyes, _no one_ was as dumb as Mouthpiece. Not even Tiger.

Action slouched in his hair and sighed. All in all, it wasn't all that different from all those other Christmas Eves spent with the Jets. The only thing that was really off was up at the counter, where Graziella was perched on her usual stool by Bernice, leaning her head on her hand. Action eyed her for a second. It was so perfectly normal that it took Action a second to remember that it was Tiger standing besottedly next to her, not Riff.

They were married, now, and everyone knew why. It wasn't hard to figure out, not with Graziella looking like she'd swallowed a watermelon. Action kind of felt sorry for her—after all, he'd been with her for a good year or so back in middle school, and annoying as she was, her life had changed an awful lot in the past seven months and no one deserved that. Action wasn't exactly one of those touchy-feely guys who could tell what every girl was thinking, but everyone knew she'd been head over heels in love with Riff.

Riff.

Action sighed. He never would have admitted it—feelings were for girls and sissy guys like Baby John—but he missed Riff. Still. He even missed Tony, a little bit, and sometimes he wondered how that girl—Maria—was doing, whether she ever wanted to run, and yell, and sink her fists into something, anything, to forget about that hot summer night when everything they'd ever known was blown out from under them. Action had a feeling she wouldn't have forgotten as easily as the other Jets had seemed to, wouldn't just be sitting somewhere humming "Feliz Navidad" while trimming a tree and baking cookies. No, Maria was probably out remembering Tony, the way the Jets _should_have been remembering their leaders, thought Action disgustedly. It bothered him, that they were all just sitting there like nothing was different, like there wasn't some gaping hole in the middle of them where Riff and Tony should have been. Hell, it wasn't as if Action _liked_ change—he definitely didn't—but things _were_ changing, and all Christmas did was remind him of how things should have been in Doc's little candy store, and how they definitely weren't. Other than the fact that it was snowing like crazy outside and he didn't want to go home, Action didn't even know why he was here.

"God, I hate Christmas," he muttered again.

Pauline, who'd been lounging on a nearby chair reading a magazine, caught the tail end of that sentence and looked up. "Merry Christmas to you, too, Scrooge," she said, snickering. "What's got your long underwear in a twist?"

Action eyed her sourly. Pauline was a great lay, sure, but he had to be in the right mood for her kind of company, and he definitely wasn't today. "Bah, fuckin' humbug."

Pauline grinned. "I'll bah _your_ humbug, little boy."

Action's lips twitched in spite of himself. "Don't mind if ya do." That was the thing about Pauline—no matter what he said or did, she wasn't scared of him and she let him know it. Even if she was a tramp, Action thought, looking her up and down with undisguised appreciation, at least she wasn't one of those spineless idiot wannabe Jet girls who squealed and ran whenever anything got the least bit rough. And, he thought, his mood marginally improving as he craned his neck forward, she was also one of the few girls who knew how to dress so that a guy could still get a good look even when the weather got cold.

Pauline smirked, clearly enjoying the attention. "Maybe later, if you're lucky. But Santa's got a lotta houses to visit tonight, so don't wait up too late."

Action scowled, his mood immediately taking a nosedive again at the mention of Santa. "Yeah, well, save me a lump'a coal," he muttered, then snorted. "'S matter'a fact, don' even bother."

"Quit rainin' on the parade," scolded Pauline. "Even a grouch like you oughta be smilin' right now. I mean, just look at Santa's little helpers." She indicated Baby John, who had somehow gotten twisted up in tinsel and lights and looked more like the Christmas tree than the tree itself. A distressed Minnie was attempting to untangle him, while the rest of the Jets and their girls looked on, hooting and hollering. "If that ain't funny, what is?"

Action waved her off. "Yeah, whatever," he grumbled, watching Minnie try to pick apart a knot of lights. It wasn't as if Baby John getting into a mess was anything new. In fact, it was all too annoyingly familiar: what kind of a Jet was the kid, anyway, if he needed a _girl_ to rescue him? Action's scowl grew deeper; if that was the future of the Jets, he thought darkly, there was definitely no hope for the gang at all.

"You are just bein' no fun at all," Pauline chided, sliding her hand on his knee. "I think ya just need to get in the_spirit_ of things, Action!" she finished, with a suggestive squeeze and a smirk.

"Yeah, well, why should I?" Action groused, giving her his best imitation of Ice's patented Glare. He was fed up with all of this holiday cheer. Even Pauline, who he could usually count on to scoff at sentimental crap like this with him, seemed to have been bitten by the Santa bug. "Christmas bites. Everyone goes around bein' all happy an' smiley for one stupid day an' they all forget that yesterday sucked, and tomorrow'll suck even more." He scowled. "Sure, maybe if ya got one'a them movie families with two kids an' a picket fence an' a dog, an' ya get lotsa presents, Christmas is great. But I don't give a damn about my family, an' they don't give a damn about me. An' I sure as hell ain't gonna get any presents, or give any'a that shit, neither, so why bother?" Action slumped in his seat, crossing his arms. "Christmas ain't nothin' but a crock."

Action was too busy stewing to care that, for an annoyingly chatty girl, Pauline was being unusually silent. Five minutes later, when even he couldn't ignore the unnatural quiet anymore, Action looked up and saw a very odd expression on her face. It almost looked like pity.

"What?" he blurted angrily, irritated to be getting a look like that from _Pauline_, of all people. Sitting up, he glared at her, suddenly feeling defensive. "It ain't like you're some Mary Sunshine like Minnie, either!"

Pauline shrugged, innocently lifting her hands up. "I wasn't sayin' nothin'."

"You'd better not've been," Action grumbled, settling back into his chair and moodily scanning the room again. Nothing much had changed, except that Minnie had roped Midge into helping her pick stray bits of tinsel out of Baby John's hair, while an ornament-laden Mouthpiece stood by like an overgrown dog waiting for a command.

Action rolled his eyes. And there was another model Jet, he thought sarcastically. Sure, Mouthpiece was stupid, but what the hell was he doing playing around with chicks like some goddamn prep school suckup? It wasn't like the Jets were doing anything at the moment, yeah, but that didn't mean they could just sit back and take orders from _girls_. Even Mouthpiece ought to know better than that, he thought disgustedly, what with the—

Action frowned. It was definitely too quiet again. Cutting his eyes over to Pauline, the dark-haired boy nearly jumped when he realized her gaze hadn't wavered at all.

"Quit starin' at me like that!" Action demanded, unnerved.

"Oh, was I doin' that?" Pauline asked innocently. "'Scuse _me_, Action, I didn't know you cared so much about people lookin' at ya," she snickered. She pointedly rotated in her seat to face the wall. "That better?"

Action snorted and didn't bother answering. Sometimes, he thought, crossing his legs, Pauline was really annoying.

After another five minutes of abnormal silence, however, Action decided he preferred a yapping Pauline to a zipped-up shut one—for some reason, Pauline keeping her trap shut made him _nervous_, because he had no idea what she was thinking. It was, he supposed, probably how Ice and Baby John felt around her all the time.

"Okay, fine!" he snapped, exasperated. "Turn the hell back around an' stop actin' so funny, okay?"

"Tell ya what," said Pauline abruptly, swiveling to face him with a gleam in her eye. "You do whatever I tell ya all day tomorrow, an' I guarantee I can prove that Christmas ain't all that bad."

Action's jaw dropped and he stared at her, flabbergasted. This was definitely unexpected. "The hell?"

Pauline shrugged. "Just think of it as my good deed for the year." She gave him a wry smile. "It ain't like I only want coal in my stockin', y'know."

At this, Action scoffed, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. Pauline didn't exactly seem like the type of girl to do good deeds, even if only one a year. "What's in it for me?"

Pauline grinned. "If ya still think Christmas sucks by the time it's over, I'll—" Here she leaned over and whispered something that made Action's eyebrows shoot straight up.

"An' if I don't?" a very intrigued Action asked with a low whistle.

"You admit Christmas ain't the worst thing in the world," Pauline said innocently. Then she smirked. "An' hell, I'll throw in what I said before, too. Deal?"

Action considered the options. It really was a win-win proposal, especially since there was no way she'd ever actually convince him about Christmas. He stuck out his hand. "Deal."

.

"Well, ya definitely ain't winnin' this bet," growled Action as he stomped into Pauline's apartment almost twenty-four hours later, irritably shaking snow off his jacket.

"Who says?" protested Pauline as she followed him in, a hint of a grin in her voice. "Christmas ain't over yet, buster."

Action swung around to glare at her. "Might as well be, it's after dark."

Paulined smirked, very suggestively removing her own coat. "Lotta fun things happen after dark."

"Not with your old man around," Action pointed out, refusing to be sidetracked. "'Sides, what else ya gonna put me through 'fore ya figure out I just hate Christmas?"

"Actually, I made him spend the night at grandma's," corrected Pauline. "An', well, there can't be that much more, can there?" she asked very innocently. "After all, Christmas's almost over, right?"

Action groaned. He was already plenty traumatized for the day, and she knew it. First, citing his promise to go along with whatever she said, Pauline had taken him to the department store:

.

"But why the hell d'ya wanna go here?" groused Action, dragging his feet. "Nothin' but a buncha little kids an' stuff ya can't buy."

Pauline grinned. "Don't mean we can't _look_," she said, tugging him along. She pointed at the gold and silver decorations sprinkled liberally throughout the store. "Pretty, ain't they? An' look at the tree."

"I guess," Action grudgingly allowed, eyeing the glittering ornaments with dislike. "Why's this place even open, anyway?" he demanded. "Seein' as it's Christmas."

"Well, that's the best part," Pauline smirked as they approached the center of the store. "Santa couldn' make it last night—bet he was on a bender with some'a his reindeer," she added in an wicked undertone, "so they made him show up today to meet all the little kiddies whose parents were boohooin' about it."

Action blanched as they rounded a column and took in the sight of fifty-plus kids running berserk around the department store, chased by a frazzled elf or two. A very hungover-looking Santa had a red-faced, screaming toddler on his knee while a woman with a face like a hatchet (presumably the mother) stood nearby, glaring ominously.

"Oh, _hell_, no," Action sputtered, stopping dead. "I ain't gettin' on—"

Pauline smirked. "Better start thinkin' about what ya want for Christmas, Action."

.

Then, as if being a Jet wasn't already dangerous enough, Pauline had insisted on taking him to the Rockefeller Center to ice skate:

.

"_Fuck_," hissed Action as he did a faceplant on the ice for the fiftieth time.

"Language," scolded Pauline with a cackle. "Wouldn' want the little kids to hear, now would ya?"

"Fuck the little kids, fuck ice skatin', an' fuck Christmas," grumbled Action, albeit in a much quieter voice, as he gingerly pushed himself up off the ice.

"Shoulda gotten Velma to teach ya, like I did," Pauline said cheerfully, tracing a slow, but steady loop around him.

"How'd ya manage _that_?" asked Action skeptically as he wobbled to his feet, cursing the stupid skates. He didn't see Velma as the type to hang around with the, well, _friendlier_ Jet girls.

Pauline grinned. "'S amazin' the favors that girl'll do when ya got some dirt on her boyfriend."

Action raised an eyebrow, intrigued in spite of himself. "Ya know somethin' about Ice?"

"Well," smirked Pauline, "let's just say he wouldn' want his, um, _difficulty_ spread around." She paused. "If ya get my drift."

Action frowned, thinking. He wasn't quite sure what she meant. Then—

"Jesus!" Action yelped, as her meaning hit him. He was so shocked that he lost his balance and crashed to the ice again. "Dammit, Pauline, ya tryin' to kill me?"

"Oh, no," said Pauline, her lips twitching. "It ain't even four o'clock yet, there's still plenty'a time for that."

.

And finally, as if to add insult to injury:

.

"_No_," said Action flatly, crossing his arms. He was sore, bruised, and aching all over from that little excursion to the ice rink, not to mention mentally disturbed from the experience of actually having to sit on Santa's lap, and he was not going to take any more of this crap. "I ain't doin' it."

"Oh, c'mon," Pauline wheedled. "It'll be _fun_."

"No way," said Action firmly, shaking his head. "I sat on Santa's lap. I went ice skatin'. _But I ain't watchin' _The Nutcracker_ with ya._"

Pauline pouted. "But daddy got the tickets, an' everythin'," she protested. "An' besides, Action, it's a Christmas classic. It even has fightin', an' everythin'!"

"Yeah? Who's the fightin' with?" demanded Action skeptically. "Fancy-pants princes an' tralala fairies?"

For once in her life, Pauline hesitated. "Um. Mice," she admitted in an uncharacteristically small voice.

Action stared. "Ya gotta be jokin'."

.

Action growled as he recalled how Pauline had dragged him off to see the ballet anyway with a thinly-veiled threat to pass around the picture she'd gotten of him and Santa at the next Jet meeting. _That_ had been a wasted couple of hours, he thought, scowling. It hadn't been that bad, at first. Action had managed to keep himself occupied by copping the occasional feel and laughing at the dancers—grown men, in tights, _pirouetting_—but he'd been less than amused when the girl who'd been playing Clara had managed to bean him on the forehead with her slipper when, as a very amused Pauline informed him after the show, she was _supposed_ to have been aiming for the Mouse King.

"Oh, get over it, grumpypants," snickered Pauline, apparently figuring out what was on his mind. "I thought she had_great_ aim, actually."

"Ya would," grumbled Action, rubbing his forehead. "Since she hit my—"

"Anyway, aren'tcha forgettin' somethin'?" interrupted Pauline innocently.

"What?" snarled Action, in no mood for her games.

Pauline pointed upwards. "Take a look, Daddy-o," she said sweetly.

Action paled, thinking of all the possible reasons she could be saying that. "I don't think I wanna."

"Kiss me, asshole," she commanded, her lips twitching as she indicated the sprig of mistletoe above them.

Action looked up and groaned. "Ya _gotta_ be kiddin' me, right?"

Pauline smirked. "Hell, no."

Action rolled his eyes, fed up. "You'd _better_ be givin' me what ya promised," he warned, before starting forward.

Pauline held up her hands to stop him. At Action's nonplussed look, she grinned. "I didn' say where."

Action raised an eyebrow. "Well, ya gonna tell me, or what?"

Pauline tilted her head, eyes glittering with mischief. "Maybe later. Right now, I got better things for ya to do," she said, backing up very slowly.

Action rolled his eyes again, but followed her as she led him into her bedroom and began rummaging around in her bureau. "Like what?" he asked, with exaggerated patience as he locked the door behind him and dropped his jacket on the floor. _Finally_, something fun, something he'd actually enjoy, something that didn't completely suck about Christmas—

Pauline pulled out a red Santa hat from the drawer and smirked. "You be Santa."

Action's jaw dropped open. "_What_?"

"You be Santa," repeated Pauline, her grin widening.

"Oh, _God_," groaned Action. "No way. No fuckin' way."

Pauline rolled her eyes. "You promised."

As if he needed a reminder, Action thought balefully, backing away. "An' I ain't never doin' _that_ again, that's for sure," he snapped. "This's way more'n I signed up for!"

Pauline gave him an innocent smile. "'S for your own good, Action. Sides," she purred, slipping her dress off her body to reveal her bright red lingerie, "Santa's got helpers, don't he?"

Action was only able to respond after a few minutes of thunderstruck silence, during which Pauline had plopped the Santa hat on his head, shoved him into a sitting position on her bed, and climbed into his lap. "Yeah," he said at last, eyes fixed on her, "I guess he does."

Pauline snickered. "So fire away, Santa."

"Ho, ho, fuckin' ho," snarled Action. He might be playing Santa, sure, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

Pauline smirked. "Ya called?"

Action snorted in spite of himself. Pauline was one crazy broad, sure, but at least she had a sense of humor. "Okay," he sighed, giving up. "I'm Santa. Whaddaya want me to say?"

"Ask me if I've been good, Santa," Pauline prompted, her lips twitching.

Action raised his eyebrows, intrigued. "Now you're talkin'."

"If ya get a move on, I won't be for long," parried Pauline.

"Okay, babe," Action said, staring straight at her and resting a hand on her thigh, "you been good this year?"

Pauline arched an eyebrow of her own. "I could be," she suggested, innocently sliding her hands down Action's chest and past the waistband of his pants.

"Ya don't say," said Action, his voice catching just the slightest bit as he tilted his head back and moved his hands to occupy a place where Santa definitely shouldn't.

Pauline twisted to straddle him, batting her eyelashes for good measure. "Yeah," she breathed, wrapping her arms around him, "_real_ good." She smirked. "A'course, I could be _bad_, too."

"How about good, for now?" Action suggested, leaning forward to press his lips to her throat.

Pauline sighed with pleasure. "Whatever ya want, Santa."

At that, Action rolled his eyes and pulled off his Santa hat before pulling her down onto the bed and running his hands over her body. "Nice gift wrappin'," he noted appreciatively. "Mind if I open?"

Pauline just grinned. "Y'know, I never did tell ya where I wanted that kiss," she reminded Action, draping her arms around him.

In answer, Action kissed her mouth roughly. "Tell me where," he breathed into her skin as he moved lower.

And Pauline smirked, sucking her breath in as he reached a particularly sensitive spot. "_Where_."

.

"So," said Pauline, glancing over at the clock on her bedside table, "it's after midnight."

"Yeah?" said Action comfortably, from his spot on the pillows. "Ain't that somethin'."

"Well?" she prodded.

"Well, what?" he shot back perversely. Action was pretty sure he knew what Pauline was up to, but he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of letting her know it.

Pauline just rolled her eyes. "Well, d'ya still think Christmas was invented by the Communists to suck our souls dry an' blow up the world?"

"Never said that," returned Action, blowing a stream of smoke from his cigarette.

Pauline sighed. "Well, anyway, _I_ don' mind Christmas," she said, settling back into her pillow and pulling the sheets up a bit higher.

"Like I said," shrugged Action, "the world looked just as awful as it does every other day. It bein' Christmas didn't change a thing."

"Yeah," agreed Pauline, and Action was surprised to hear a note of wistfulness in her voice, "the world's a pretty shitty place. Don't I know it." Then she smiled. "But that's the nice thing about Christmas, y'know? Maybe the world sucks the resta the time, but it's nice forgettin' it once a year."

Action thought about this. If he was honest, really honest with himself, he had to admit that today hadn't been so bad. Sure, he'd almost been trampled by a horde of rampaging kids, and sure, he could happily go the rest of his life without seeing another pair of ice skates, and okay, sure, he now had a bruise the size of Alaska on his forehead from the _ballet,_ of all things, but even so, he'd had…well, he'd had fun. And, yeah, even though Pauline's idea of holiday cheer was kind of limited to idiot trips around the city that put him in serious danger of bodily harm, still, there _had_ been the holiday-themed roll in the sack to make up for it, which, Action had to admit, was definitely not bad at all.

But most importantly, Action reflected, he hadn't once thought about Riff all day, 'til now, at least. And that particular memory didn't hurt quite so much as it had the day before.

Therefore, if he had to tell the truth…

"Okay," he grudgingly admitted, stubbing his cigarette out on the ashtray of the bedside table, "maybe Christmas ain't so bad."

Pauline smirked. "Least, 's not as bad as _me_."

Action's mouth twitched in spite of himself. "Ya definitely ain't on the nice list," he said approvingly, then grinned. "Now how's about we put ya at the tip-top of the naughty list?"

And Pauline snickered. "Whatever ya want, Santa."

.

.end.

* * *

Music: I found two versions of "Jingle Bell Rock" that I liked on iTunes: the one by Bobby Rydell and Chubby Checker, and the much more recent version by Matt Belsante. The first is really adorably funny, and the second is similar to Michael Buble's style, but both are very enjoyable. :)

Hint: to be sung to the tune of "O, Christmas Tree:"

O, Baby John and Minnie,  
How fluffy is your chapter?

:) love, viennacantabile


	3. three: santa claus is coming to town

Disclaimer: Don't own anything at all except this Santa hat I'm wearing to put me in the mood for Christmas fics. And Minnie's family and specific interpretation belong to **HedgehogQuill**. :)

Note: Ugh, so, I know this one took me awhile, but it's super-long to make up for it and I have excuses! I just got done with two weeks of hell filled with two presentations, five term papers, and one final, ugh. And also, this chapter went through three different song/plot ideas before I figured this one out a few days ago :) Anyway, thanks very much to the five fantabulous reviewers of the raunchiness that was Action and Pauline. As always, any dates mentioned are based on the movie occurring in June of 1957, meaning that Baby John and Minnie are thirteen during this chapter. Further notes at the end!

For: some very lovely people I know: **HedgehogQuill**, **SheWhoDreamsByDarknes****s-x**, **xXc0okieSsNcrEamXx**, and **Megfly**. There is no possible way this chapter (or most of what I have up) would exist without them.

—viennacantabile

* * *

merry christmas with love

three : santa claus is comin' to town

…_in which Baby John and Minnie discover the answer to that age-old question: is there a Santa Claus?_

.

He sees you when you're sleeping,  
He knows when you're awake.  
He knows when you've been bad or good,  
So be good for goodness' sake!

So you'd better watch out,  
You'd better not cry.  
You'd better not pout,  
I'm telling you why:  
Santa Claus is coming to town!

.

Christmas Eve, 1955

_._

_Ding-dong_.

Outside the door to the Goddard apartment, Baby John fidgeted. It was Christmas Eve, and _Minnie Goddard_ had asked him over to her house to help her bake sugar cookies.

_Ding-dong_.

Baby John couldn't help it: he was nervous. Not only was Minnie the prettiest girl he'd ever seen in his whole life, she had a _police officer_ for a father. A police officer who, judging from the glares Baby John always got whenever he was around, didn't seem to like him too much.

_Ding-dong_.

And now, to add yet another worry to his worry list, no one was answering the door. Baby John gulped. What if he'd misunderstood, what if Minnie _hadn't_ invited him over at all? What if she actually hated him, and what if, assuming she actually answered the door, she just slammed it back in his face and got her dad to lock him up and told the whole world that he was a crazy stalker and he—

The door swung open to reveal Minnie, her pink blouse and blue skirt covered by a voluminous beribboned apron. "Hi, Johnny," she beamed. "It's so nice to see you!"

"Yeah, uh, you too," returned Baby John bashfully.

"Come on in," Minnie urged, opening the door wider.

"Okay," said Baby John meekly, following her into the apartment. "So, um, what do we gotta do?"

"I've already mixed the dough and put it in the refrigerator to chill," explained Minnie perkily as she led him into the kitchen. "It should be ready by now. All we have to do now is roll the dough out and cut the cookies and decorate and bake them. So, not too much."

Baby John blinked in trepidation. That sounded like an awful lot to him. Still, though, he was here and he was going to do his best. "Just tell me what ya want me to do," he said heroically as he surveyed the sunny kitchen.

Minnie beamed at him and gestured to one of the drawers. "I'll roll out the dough. Can you pick out the Christmas cookie cutters? Be careful, they're—sharp," she ended with a gasp, seeing that Baby John had already found this out. "Johnny, are you all right?"

"Gee, I think I'm bleedin'," Baby John said faintly, feeling a bit sick at the sight of the crimson blood oozing slowly out of his finger.

"I—I'll get you a Band-Aid," promised Minnie worriedly, hurrying over to one of the cabinets and pulling out a cardboard box. Taking a small bandage out, she raced back and smoothed it over the cut. "How does it feel?" she asked solicitously.

"Better," Baby John said bravely. "What should I do now?"

"I guess you probably shouldn't handle the cookie cutters," reflected Minnie seriously. "Do you think you could take out the decorating sugar to put on top? It's in there." She gestured toward the drawer next to the refrigerator.

Bab John nodded eagerly. Reaching for the drawer, he picked up three brightly-colored sugar canisters marked "Decorating Sugar" and waved them in the air. "This them?"

"Yes, but maybe only one—"

_Crash_.

"—at a time," finished Minnie weakly, staring wide-eyed at the explosion of pink, yellow, and orange sugar on the linoleum.

Baby John cringed, mentally whacking himself on the head. "Gee, Minnie, I'm awful sorry!"

"Oh, it's all right, Johnny," reassured Minnie with a faint giggle. "I don't even think we were going to use those colors, anyway!"

"We weren't?" asked Baby John, breathing a sigh of relief. "Phew."

"No," laughed Minnie, stepping over and deftly plucking four more canisters from the drawer. "It's Christmas, after all. We should use red and green, and silver and gold. Don't you think?" she ended, rather anxiously.

"Oh, yes!" agreed Baby John immediately. "Definitely!"

Minnie beamed. "Now, let me just clean this up, and we'll get started."

"I can help," volunteered Baby John, praying he wouldn't mess up again.

"Oh, no, it's fine," said Minnie brightly, shaking her head as she took a broom and began sweeping the sugar into a dustpan. "You're hurt, I can do it. You just stay right there and talk to me."

Baby John chuckled sheepishly. "Well, okay." Watching her clean the mess up, he felt kind of funny. It was almost like when they'd played house, back in kindergarten. He wondered suddenly whether Minnie remembered that, too. Baby John cleared his throat. "Say, Minnie—"

"_Johnnyboy!_" boomed a loud voice, a shade too cheerily. Caught completely off guard, Baby John choked and staggered as Minnie's father clapped him on the shoulder. "I didn't know you were going to be here!"

"Yes, you did, Daddy!" piped up Minnie, beaming as she hurried over and gave her father a hug. "I told you so, yesterday!"

Officer Goddard appeared to lose steam for the briefest moment. "Oh. Right. Well, _anyway_, how're the cookies coming along? You _are_ helping my little girl bake her cookies, right?" he added with a glower, patting said 'little girl' on the head.

"Sure am," babbled Baby John, snatching up a stray rolling pin and brandishing it illustratively. "She makes the _best_cookies. I _love_ Minnie's cookies. I could eat 'em all day!"

"Oh, thank you, Johnny," Minnie blushed as she skipped to the refrigerator and took out a very large lump of dough.

Officer Goddard's eyebrows snapped together with an almost audible click. "_You_ aren't going to eat her cookies and leave her all alone with a mess of little crumbs to clean up, _are_ you?" he demanded heatedly. "You want to eat my daughter's cookies, you'd better be a _responsible_ cookie eater and take the consequences!"

Baby John frowned. "Huh?"

"Oh, George, don't be silly," laughed a woman—presumably Mrs. Goddard—who came breezing through the kitchen and ruffled Baby John's hair before taking an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter. "I'm sure Johnny here is a_very_ responsible young man. Aren't you, Johnny?" she called over her shoulder as she sailed out again.

Baby John didn't have any clue what they were talking about but figured it was best to nod vigorously. "Yes'm. Well, gee, I'd take responsibility for any crumbs I made," he offered.

Officer Goddard glowered. "But ya aren't gonna _make_ any crumbs, are ya, Johnny-boy?"

Baby John gulped. "Um. No?"

"Good," snapped Minnie's father with a scowl. "'Cause if ya do, you'll be in the can faster than I can say 'juvenile delinquent.'"

"Um, okay," said Baby John meekly.

"Daddy, you're so funny!" giggled Minnie as she staggered over and deposited the dough on the table. "Don't worry about _us_; Johnny is doing a _great_ job!"

"I am?" asked Baby John bashfully, his knees quaking as he glanced guiltily from his bandaged finger to the now-clean floor.

"Oh, yes!" she beamed, humming blissfully as she turned to sort through a drawer. Officer Goddard took the opportunity to shoot Baby John a ferocious glare and make an emphatic gesture that somehow did not appear to be at all friendly.

Baby John squeaked.

"Hmm? Oh, thanks, Johnny, that's exactly what I was looking for, how did you know?" exclaimed Minnie happily as she turned and saw the rolling pin in Baby John's hand.

"Ol' Johnnyboy here is just a _genius_!" said Officer Goddard with a bark of laughter as he clapped Baby John on the shoulder so hard that his still-shaking knees buckled. "_Aren't_ ya, Johnnyboy?"

Baby John was saved from having to reply to this question when the phone jangled and Officer Goddard, still giving Baby John the evil eye, reached for the phone. "Goddard here."

The phone squawked so loudly that Officer Goddard nearly dropped it before catching and gingerly holding it a few inches away from his ear. Baby John thought he could vaguely make out words that sounded very much like "kids," "water balloons," and "Krupke." And…. He frowned. The voice sounded almost like _Schrank_.

"Right. Right. Okay, okay, I'm comin'!" exclaimed Officer Goddard in slightly panicked voice. "Keep your shirt on, Lew!"

At this, Baby John goggled. Lew was usually short for Lewis, which meant…Schrank's first name was _Lewis_?

Officer Goddard hung up the phone and swung around to face Baby John and Minnie.

"What is it, Daddy?" asked a wide-eyed Minnie.

Officer Goddard coughed. "Well, uh—I gotta go down to the station, take care of a _situation_." Baby John could have sworn the man's gaze flicked over to him before he turned to his daughter. "Don't work too hard, okay, Minnie?"

"Of course, Daddy!" chirped Minnie, beaming.

Officer Goddard's fond smile shifted into a ferocious scowl as he wheeled on Baby John. "An' _no funny business_!" he growled. "Got it?"

"Yup," said Baby John in a tiny voice.

Officer Goddard glowered. "Good."

And with that, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the kitchen.

"Well, I guess it's time to roll out the dough now," said Minnie cheerfully in the silence that followed.

"Yeah," agreed Baby John in a faint voice, "I guess so."

.

Several hours and several decorating mishaps later, a rainbow sugar-dusted Baby John was pulling his coat on to leave when he heard footsteps behind him.

"Johnny? Johnny, wait," called Minnie. She hurried over, brushing her floury hands on her apron. She glanced seriously up at him. "Before you go, I—"

"Yeah?" asked Baby John, his heart thumping.

"I'd like to ask you something," she went on, fidgeting and not quite looking him in the face.

Baby John couldn't help the bashful grin that spread over his face. "You can ask me _anythin'_, Minnie," he said happily.

Minnie blushed pink. "Well, I was just wondering if you would come back here later tonight. I'd like your help with something—I'll explain what it is later."

Baby John's eyes widened. "Sure, Minnie," he said eagerly. "What time ya want me to be here?"

Minnie gave a shy smile. "Oh, thank you so much, Johnny! I think eleven forty-five should be about right—that's not too late, is it?" she asked fearfully.

"Nah, that's perfect," grinned Baby John, surprised but very, very pleased. "I'll be here," he promised. "No matter what."

Minnie smiled. "Thanks. Oh, and Johnny?" she added with a blush as he turned to leave, "come by my fire escape, okay? You can get to it from the alley behind our building. Same floor, two over from the left."

Baby John nodded vigorously. "See you later."

.

At precisely eleven forty-five that night, Baby John tapped softly on Minnie's window.

"Minnie?" he hissed quietly. "Ya there?"

The window slid smoothly open, and Minnie's head popped out. "Hi, Johnny," she whispered. "Come on in."

Baby John nodded. "Okay." Very carefully, he began to ease himself inside, cautiously slipping one limb after another through the window. That done, he dropped silently to the floor and promptly fell flat on his face.

"Johnny, are you all right?" gasped Minnie, anxiously helping him up. "Oh, and how's your finger?"

Baby John grinned sheepishly, holding up a gigantic pink stuffed unicorn. "Yeah. I just, um, tripped. And it's fine."

"Oh, I'm sorry," apologized Minnie, taking the unicorn with a blush. "I have a lot of these."

Baby John looked around, eyes wide. It was the first time he had ever been inside Minnie's room, and all he could see was pink. And stuffed animals. Lots of them. "Um, yeah, you do," he offered inanely.

"Oh!" said Minnie suddenly. She colored when Baby John glanced at her. "I forgot. I made you some hot chocolate."

Baby John's jaw dropped. "Ya _did_?" he breathed, awed. "Gee, Minnie, that was real nice of ya."

Minnie blushed even more before hurrying over to her desk. "I thought you would be cold, coming in from out there."

"Wha—oh, yeah," said Baby John feelingly, rubbing his arms as he finally grasped the benefits of the situation. "It's, uh—real cold. Yeah," he went on, shivering for greater effect, "a guy could freeze out there without nice girls like you bein' so thoughtful."

"Are you cold?" asked Minnie worriedly as she came back and handed him a mug which, Baby John was pleased to see, _did_ contain hot chocolate. "If you're sick, maybe I should get my parents…"

"No!" yelped Baby John in a panic, imagining what Officer Goddard would do if he found Baby John inside his daughter's bedroom at eleven forty-eight at night. He took a gulp of the hot chocolate and yipped again—it was scalding hot. "I'm good, this is good!"

"Oh, I'm so glad," sighed Minnie. "I would feel _terrible_ if you were sick because of me, Johnny."

Baby John struggled for words. "I'd, uh—feel terrible if _you_ felt terrible," he stammered clumsily, fanning his burnt tongue with his hand.

Minnie smiled at him and sank to sit on the floor, tucking her skirts in around her. "Sit down," she suggested.

Baby John kept his hands carefully around the mug as he settled onto Minnie's flower-shaped rug. "So why'd ya want me to come over?" he asked very, very quietly. No, he _definitely_ didn't want to wake Officer Goddard up right now, he thought with a shudder.

Minnie, fiddling with her unicorn, was silent for awhile. "Johnny, do you believe in Santa Claus?" she finally asked softly.

Baby John froze. Being small and frequently picked on, he dreaded this question every holiday season. "Um—well—"

"It's all right if you don't," Minnie assured him, apparently used to this answer. "I know most people don't."

Drawing his knees up to his chest, Baby John glanced fearfully through the semidarkness at her; then, convinced that Minnie, of all people, would not laugh at him, looked around to make sure that the coast was clear. Only then did he face her and give a tiny nod. "Yeah, I do," he confessed quietly. It wasn't something he'd ever admit to anyone else, not even A-Rab, but Minnie, well—somehow he thought she'd understand.

He was rewarded by the prettiest smile he'd ever seen lighting up at him through the gloom. "I knew you would," Minnie whispered fervently, reaching out and squeezing his hand. "I just knew it."

Baby John's ears reddened as he daringly returned the squeeze before Minnie withdrew her hand. "So, uh, why d'ya ask?"

Minnie bit her lip. "Tonight is Christmas," she said quietly. "Santa's come to bring me presents every year, but I'm almost fourteen. Mother says he'll probably stop coming pretty soon. And before that happens, I'd just really like to meet him, just once, and—thank him, you know. And I was just hoping—would you wait with me?" she ended in a rush.

Baby John's eyes widened. "Sure, Minnie," he said eagerly. "I'll wait with you. I mean, I'm thirteen an' a half, an' I'd sure like to meet Santa before I get old, too."

"Oh, good," Minnie breathed gratefully. "I'm so glad."

"So I guess he'll be here around midnight?" asked Baby John, glancing at the pink unicorn clock on the wall, which now read eleven fifty-two.

Minnie's brows knitted. "Yes, I think so. That's what mother said when I asked what time Santa comes."

"I guess she'd know," agreed Baby John, still awed by the idea of actually coming face-to-face with Santa.

"I've put the cookies on a plate and poured some milk," said Minnie nervously, indicating the place where they sat on her desk. "And now we just have to wait a few more minutes, and then…"

"We'll meet _Santa_," finished Baby John. The two shared an excited look. "Gee, Minnie, I can't wait."

"Me, neither," whispered Minnie, biting her lip.

"How d'ya think he gets around the world so fast?" asked Baby John wonderingly, taking a sip of his hot chocolate, which had thankfully cooled down by now. "An' what does he do the resta the year, d'ya think?"

Minnie sighed happily. "I'm sure I don't know, but we'll be able to ask in just a few minutes. Johnny," she went on thoughtfully, "how many people do you think have met Santa?"

Baby John thought about this. "Well, there're his elves…oh, and Mrs. Claus, a'course," he added. "But I don' know. I guess we could count all the people who've been to the North Pole. An' maybe there've been other kids who've stayed up late to meet him, too. An' now there'll be us," he grinned.

Minnie sighed. "I wonder why more people don't believe in him," she said a bit dejectedly, hugging her unicorn. "It would make me sad if no one believed in me."

"Well, _I_ believe in you, Minnie," said Baby John stoutly. Then he flushed pink. "I—I mean, Santa. I believe in Santa."

Minnie smiled at him. "I know you do, Johnny," she said softly, reaching over and squeezing his hand again. "You're one of the nicest boys I know."

Baby John went red. "I, um—you're real nice, too," he managed. Unsure what else to say, he lapsed back into silence. Minnie didn't seem to mind, though; they sat in comfortable quiet for a few minutes until she withdrew her hand.

"I think we'd better go," she whispered, indicating the clock, which read eleven fifty-eight. "Can you get the milk?"

"Yeah," Baby John whispered back, trading the mug of hot chocolate for the glass of milk on the desk. "Can ya get the cookies?"

Minnie flashed him a smile through the darkness. "Yes. Ready?"

Baby John's stomach flipped over. "Ready," he gulped.

As Minnie eased open the door and slowly crept out into the hallway, Baby John followed her, his heart thumping loudly. In all the Christmases he could remember, he'd never been so excited. He was about to meet _Santa_, the real thing, the guy in red, the man who brought love and joy and gifts to the whole entire world—even West Side. How could he not be thrilled?

But what if Santa wasn't there? wondered Baby John, biting his lip anxiously. What if he never showed up and the cookies got stale and the milk went bad and he and Minnie just waited all night until morning when Officer Goddard found them and kicked Baby John out in the snow on his rear? What if, as every other kid he knew believed, the horrifying truth was that Santa wasn't real at all?

As if to reassure him, Minnie glanced back and smiled at him. "He'll be there," she whispered, "he will. I promise."

Baby John blinked, feeling better in spite of his doubts. Tentatively, he reached for her hand and squeezed it. "I know."

This time, Minnie didn't pull away, just squeezed back and drew him forward with her into the living room. Baby John peered into the gloom, heart in his mouth. If Santa really was there, he would be right around the firepla—

And, sure enough, at the fireplace stood a man all in red with a stocking cap and long white beard and a sack stuffed full of presents he was unloading into the stockings hung on the mantel. Baby John yelped, almost dropping the glass of milk in his surprise. "_Santa_! I _knew_ you were real!"

Santa swung around, his mouth dropping open. "_Johnny_! What the he—I mean, what in the world are you doing here so late with this nice young lady?" he finished pleasantly, although his face was curiously twitching.

Baby John cringed. Santa's initially very unhappy tone sounded pretty familiar from Baby John's dealings with the school guidance counselors and various police officers, and he didn't want Santa, of all people, thinking that he was just some juvenile delinquent who stayed up late and went over to girls' apartments when he should have been sleeping and waiting for Santa in his own home. Even if that was, in fact, what he was doing at the moment. Squaring his shoulders, Baby John shrugged weakly. "I, uh—well—"

Minnie hurried over, hands clasped. "Oh, Santa, I'm so sorry we startled you," she said penitently. "I just—Mother said that since I'm growing up you won't be able to come much longer, so I—I wanted to thank you for being here every year since I was born. And Johnny wanted to say thanks, too." She held out the plate of cookies. "We made these for you."

After a pause, the man in red took the plate and smiled at her, tugging at his beard. "Thank _you_, Minnie," he said gruffly. "You're a good girl." Taking a cookie, he blinked as a cascade of red and green sugar showered down on the plate. "This is a nice cookie."

"Johnny decorated that one," said Minnie proudly.

"Oh, I see," said Santa, eyeing Baby John sternly. "I hope you're a responsible—"

"Yeah, I'm a responsible cookie-eater," babbled Baby John in something of a panic. Gee, he thought, thunderstruck, it was _true_. Santa _did_ know everything.

Santa's gaze didn't waver. "Yes. Well."

Baby John laughed nervously, then choked as Santa tossed a wrapped gift at him and clapped him roughly on the shoulder. "Merry Christmas, Johnnyboy," he said in a gruff, oddly familiar voice. "Since you're here, anyway. One less stop I have to make."

"M—merry Christmas, Santa," he managed with an awed stare at his present. "Gee, thanks."

Santa coughed uncomfortably before gulping down the last of the milk and wrapping the cookies into the napkin Minnie had thoughtfully provided. "Don't mention it. Now, you go upstairs and sleep, Minnie, and Johnny, you run along home before your mother finds out you're not home." He smiled. "And you never know, I might be seeing you again next year."

"Goodbye, Santa!" chorused Baby John and Minnie. "Merry Christmas!"

Santa grinned. "Merry Christmas, kids."

There was a awed silence as the red-coated man shouldered his sack and headed for the door to the apartment. Then:

"Um, Santa?" piped up Baby John, "shouldn't you be going, y'know, up the chimney instead?"

Santa turned around and regarded Baby John with a toothy grin eerily reminiscent of…someone; Baby John couldn't remember who. "Well," he said heartily, "aren't you a smart boy. But you see, Santa gets a little tired of going up and down chimneys all the time, so tonight I parked my reindeer on the street."

Baby John gaped. "Cool, can we see?"

"No!" snapped Santa, looking flustered and tugging his cap even lower over his eyes. "I mean—they're invisible! Right. Invisible reindeer. They're a, uh, special kind of North Pole breed."

"Even Rudolph?" asked Minnie, eyes wide.

"Y—yes, even Rudolph," nodded Santa cheerily, coughing. "Otherwise I'd _love_ to show ya!"

"Oh," said Baby John, disappointed. Then he brightened. "Could we ride on your sleigh, instead?"

"No!" Santa practically shouted. "That is—Santa has a lot of other children to visit tonight, so he'd better be going," he ended with a nervous chuckle, edging toward the door.

"Oh, okay," shrugged Baby John agreeably.

"Thank you again for visiting," said Minnie shyly. "It means so much to us."

"Yeah," nodded Baby John fervently. "None'a the other kids believe in you."

At this, Santa paused, regarding them with an odd look in his eyes. "You two're good kids," he said quietly, "and I hope you always believe in Santa Claus." His gaze rested on Baby John. "I know I believe in you. Merry Christmas."

And with that, he strode toward the door and left.

"_Wow_," whispered Baby John after a minute or two. "We just met _Santa Claus_."

"We did," agreed Minnie, sighing happily as she locked the door. "And he was _just_ like I thought he'd be."

Baby John suddenly smacked himself in the head. "I can't believe I forgot to ask him if he ever gets tired of fat jokes!"

Minnie smiled. "I guess he would," she offered dreamily. "After all, that's the nice thing about Santa, I think. He's human. He must get sad, and frustrated, and lonely, too, just like the rest of us. But even though he's not any different from us, he still does everything he can each Christmas to bring joy to people all over the world, people he'll never even meet. People who don't even believe in him." She paused. "And I think that's wonderful."

"Yeah," reflected Baby John thoughtfully. "I guess you're right." He glanced at Minnie shyly. "Gee, thanks for askin' me over tonight. I wouldna missed it for the world."

Minnie blushed. "You're welcome. I couldn't think of a better person to meet Santa with."

Baby John turned pink and cast around for a change of subject, flustered. "Y'know, he seemed kinda familiar," he said wildly. "Like I'd seen him before."

"Maybe you met him when you were little and just don't remember it," suggested Minnie. She smiled shyly at him. "I felt the same way."

Baby John shrugged, still embarrassed. "I guess so. I'd better go, though."

"It _is_ getting late," agreed Minnie, leading the way back into her room and to the window.

Baby John climbed through and turned around to face her, giving her a little wave. "Well, bye."

Minnie smiled back at him. "Bye."

Baby John grinned back—he couldn't help it. "Bye."

"Bye," returned Minnie obligingly.

"Bye," repeated Baby John, waving again.

"Bye—oh, wait, I forgot!" exclaimed Minnie, diving back into her room. She emerged a minute later with a small bag in her hands. "I made _these_ cookies especially for you," she informed him with a blush. "Merry Christmas."

"Wow," said Baby John as he took the pink bag, amazed. "Thanks." His face fell. "Gee, I don't have anythin' for you…"

Minnie shook her head. "I don't need anything," she said quietly, giving him that heart-stopping smile again. "You being here, and _believing_ with me—that's enough. Thank you, Johnny." She leaned forward and pressed a shy kiss to his cheek.

"You're welcome, Minnie," managed Baby John, feeling warm all over despite the snow that was beginning to fall. "M—merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Johnny," said Minnie softly. "Good night."

.

Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished…. No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

—Francis Pharcellus Church, "Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus"

.

.end.

* * *

Note the Second: I feel I should let you all know that there was totally a deleted scene planned where Baby John found "Santa" trying to get back into the house, but, alas, it had to be cut. Actually, there were about three pages full of deleted scenes from all the ideas that I had, but I'm pretty sure you're all glad that I cut them, since this is the longest chapter yet. :) I have most of the next chapter written, so unless I drastically extend it, it should be up tomorrow. :)

Music: I have three recordings of "Santa Claus Is Comin' to Town," by Faith Hill, Rockapella (an a cappella group), and Frank Sinatra. All are excellent, go listen. :)

Hint: Well, it's A-Rab and Anybodys's turn next. And it will, I hope, be epic. :)

love, viennacantabile


	4. four: here we come a wassailing

Disclaimer: Again, I only own the Santa hat. Anybodys' sister belongs to **HedgehogQuill**. :)

Note: Also to make up for it being so long since I updated, here is another chapter! This is the chapter I've had waiting since before I had the first one up, and though it got an additional five and a half pages added to the six I've had, since this fic is evolving beyond my initial expectations of pure fluff, it's still basically what I wanted to write for them. As always, any dates mentioned are based on the movie occurring in June of 1957, meaning that A-Rab is fourteen and Anybodys is thirteen and a half in this chapter. Further notes at the end!

For: as always, **SheWhoDreamsByDarknes****s-x**,**xXc0okieSsNcrEamXx**, and **Megfly**. However, this chapter is and must be dedicated to the miracle-worker who made me actually fond of this pairing and these characters. I couldn't have written this chapter without her helping me out with her extensive knowledge of these two, and I hope it's as good of a surprise as I want it to be. Merry Christmas, **HedgehogQuill**, I heart you muchly. :)

—viennacantabile

* * *

merry christmas with love

four : here we come a-wassailing

…_in which A-Rab and Anybodys go a-wassailing._

.

Here we come a-wassailing  
Among the leaves so green,  
Here we come a-wandering  
So fair to be seen.

Love and joy come to you,  
And to you your wassail too,  
And God bless you and send you a happy New Year.  
And God send you a happy New Year.

.

Christmas, 1955

.

"Hey," said Anybodys suspiciously from her perch by the pinball machine as the door to Doc's banged open and A-Rab sauntered in, "what're ya doin' here?"

A-Rab shrugged, grabbing a candy bar on his way over. "Baby John's off doin' somethin' with Minnie, just like yesterday, an' I ain't got nothin' better to do," he announced, punching the button on the pinball machine for a new game. At Anybodys's raised eyebrow, he snorted. "Nah," he said, answering her silent question, "he don't got the guts. They's prob'ly off _carolin'_ or somethin' like that."

Anybodys shook her head. That was _exactly_ the kind of thing Baby John would do with Minnie. "But it's Christmas," she pointed out, gesturing at the empty store. "None'a the others're here."

A-Rab shrugged. "So? Why're _you_ here, then?" he asked, sounding a bit defensive as he worked the flippers and levers of the game with a bit more force than necessary.

Anybodys hunched over. "None'a yer beeswax," she mumbled. Actually, the truth was that she just didn't want to go home, not with Sissy looking the way she did nowadays, but A-Rab didn't need to know that.

"Yeah, well, then, don't stick your face in other peoples' sob stories," advised A-Rab, but without any real rancor behind it.

Anybodys glanced up, startled that he seemed to have the sense to leave well enough alone. Still, appearances were appearances, and she had to keep hers up. "Yeah, well, don't _you_ stick your face by a mirror, you'd crack it," she retorted. It was significantly weaker than what she usually came up with, but Anybodys figured that if A-Rab was distracted enough not to pester her, he wouldn't notice.

A-Rab jerked and cursed as the ball slipped past and landed back in its slot with a thunk. "Aww, damn, now look what ya made me do," he groused. "I lost my ball!"

Anybodys glared, her former restraint gone. "Ya screwed up your own damn game," she corrected, "an' it beats me how you could _lose_ a ball when ya don't _got_ any, anyway." She made a point of looking him up and down and raising one unimpressed eyebrow.

A-Rab reddened. "Ya little—"

Anybodys tensed, ready and itching to defend herself. But instead of shoving her, or goosing her, or even swearing at her, A-Rab just made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat and thumped his hands against the pinball machine before stalking over to the counter and plunking himself on a stool.

Anybodys stared, feeling almost disappointed. "The hell was that?"

"What?" returned A-Rab, not even looking at her.

"That!" sputtered Anybodys. "You, rollin' over like some kicked dog. Not even jumpin' me for tellin' the truth."

That, Anybodys figured, would piss him off, if nothing else did. But instead, A-Rab didn't even move. "I just ain't in the mood, okay?" he snapped in a low, hard voice. "An' call me crazy, but maybe I don' feel like tellin' _you_ why."

Anybodys fisted her hands and eyed A-Rab's back narrowly. He wasn't getting away _that_ easily. "Well, 'scuse _me_, Mister 'I'm-gonna-admit-I'm-actin'-funny-but-not-tell-ya-why," she grumbled. "Maybe if ya got that stick outta yer ass, ya _would_ be in the mood!"

A-Rab swung around in his stool and glowered at her. "Why don'tcha shut up, little girl?"

"Why don'tcha be a real Jet an' quit mopin'?" fired back Anybodys, somehow irritated that he wasn't rising to the bait.

"Why don'tcha _mind your own damn business_?" growled A-Rab, pounding his fist on the counter.

"No way!" countered Anybodys, perversely pleased to be getting to him at last. "What's your business's Jet business, an' what's Jet business's _my_ business!"

"Anybodys," snapped A-Rab, staring daggers at her, "_you ain't a Jet_. You _ain't_ a Jet, an' you ain't never gonna _be_ a Jet, so quit whinin' an' followin' us around like we ain't just too busy to tell ya to fuck off!"

Anybodys glared at him, breathing hard. She had to admit it: that one stung a bit. "Says you," she stumbled, for once at a bit of a loss for words. "Like _you_ weren't just some dirt-nosed little _nobody_ before they took ya. Whadda_you_ know about it?"

"Plenty," sneered A-Rab. "I know you're a _girl_, an' girls ain't _never_ gonna be Jets while Riff an' Tony're around. You be a Jet, _sure_. Over their dead bodies."

Anybodys flinched. But Tony liked her, didn't he? At least, he never _really_ told her to go away, and she _had_ known him for just about forever… She ground her teeth. Of course, that was true of her and Baby John, too, and look how the coward was already turning tail after a few cracks from the Jets about hanging around with girls. "It'll happen," she muttered balefully, kicking at the abandoned pinball machine, "you just wait and see. It'll happen."

After a full five minutes had gone by and A-Rab still hadn't responded, Anybodys risked a glance over at the counter and frowned. A-Rab's eyes were glued to the boxes of candy like they were normally glued to Pauline's rack. She was beginning to wonder what actually _was_ eating him.

"I know ya want me, quit starin'," said A-Rab in monotone.

Anybodys pursed her lips. "I want ya like a snowball wants a day in hell," she announced, before crossing her arms and deliberately turning away. Fine, then, she thought huffily, he could just keep his damn secret to himself. It wasn't like _she_ cared.

A-Rab swung around and eyed her for a minute, then seemed to come to an abrupt decision. "So," he said casually, sliding his hands into his coat, "I nabbed some Christmas cheer offa my dad las' night." He withdrew his hand, which came out with five or six tiny bottles of gin. "Wanna try?"

Anybodys eyed him warily, wondering what he was up to. "I dunno."

A-Rab rolled his eyes. "'Course, if you're _chicken_, I get it—"

"I ain't chicken!" Anybodys protested immediately, all suspicious thoughts thrown to the wind. She jumped down from her spot on the wall and dashed over to grab a bottle. Uncorking it, she downed half its contents before A-Rab could wrestle it back.

"Save some for me!" he protested, tipping the rest of the bottle down his throat.

Coughing and sputtering from the fire in her throat, Anybodys made a revolted face. "What the hell _is_ this stuff?"

"Your instant ticket to happy," said A-Rab moodily, unstoppering another bottle. "Just ask anybody."

"Yeah? Well, how would _you_ know?" demanded Anybodys, snatching the gin from him and taking another gulp. "You sure don't look too happy."

"Happy comes _later_, genius," explained A-Rab with a glower. "Least, that's what he says," he muttered under his breath.

Anybodys eyed him, but, already feeling a little woozy, decided not to comment. "I ain't never been drunk before," she declared instead. "Wonder how I'll know when I am?"

A-Rab shrugged, already hard at work chugging down another bottle. "Beats me. I betcha you'll turn purple," he added, with a ghost of his usual smirk. "'Cept nobody'd be able to tell, 'cause that's how ya look, anyway."

Anybodys rolled her eyes. "Betcha I'll last longer'n you will, numbskull."

A-Rab's head snapped up, his eyes at last sparking at the challenge. "You're on, little girl."

.

A few tussles with A-Rab over three more bottles of gin later, Anybodys felt _amazing_.

"I win!" she hiccuped happily. "You, Mister _Jet_, are a _real cheap drunk_," she snickered, poking A-Rab in the chest and staggering a little.

"Oh, yeah?" replied a prone A-Rab fuzzily from his spot on the pinball machine. "Looks to me like _you're_ just as plastered as I am, wannabe."

"Yeah, well, this's my first time drinkin'!" huffed Anybodys defensively.

"Me, too!" protested A-Rab before flushing. "I mean—drinkin'—with a _girl_, yeah, my first time drinkin' with a _girl_!" he corrected quickly.

"Yeah, right," snorted Anybodys, cackling so hard she would have fallen over if she hadn't grabbed the pole by the pinball machine. "Ya gin virgin! Hah! Or just vir-_gin_! Get it?"

"Yeah, I get it," grumbled A-Rab. "An' you will, too, if ya don't shut up."

"So ya got all this stuff from your dad?" asked Anybodys, waving her bottle around.

A-Rab loudly cleared his throat. "Yeah."

"Were ya gonna share it with the Jets?" Anybodys went on comfortably.

"A'course," A-Rab nodded, seeming to brighten a little. "Jets is _family_."

"Gee, I can't _wait_ to be a Jet," Anybodys breathed, swinging backwards and forwards on the pole. "Ya gotta tell me, A-Rab, ain't it _great_?"

"_Great_," A-Rab agreed with a hiccup. "I love 'em, an' they love me. Actually, 's _better'n_ family," he added as an afterthought, taking another swallow from his bottle.

Anybodys frowned, trying to pick out which of the three A-Rabs in her line of sight was annoying her so much. "Look, stop bein' such a Debbie Downer," she announced. "You're makin' me nervous; I don' like it."

"Yeah? Well, ya don't like it, ya leave," shrugged A-Rab lazily, waving his hand in the direction of the storefront. "Don' let the door hit ya on the way out."

Anybodys shook her head vigorously, the motion making her head spin. "Hell, no. I was here first."

A-Rab shrugged expansively again, yawning. "Suit yourself."

Anybodys eyed him. Even though her brain was feeling pleasantly foggy from the gin, she knew that A-Rab sure was acting funny today. She had to admit that it felt odd, almost unnerving, for him to be _suggesting_ that she scram, instead of just shoving her out himself. Remembering the look in his eyes before, though, she decided to keep her mouth shut for the moment. After all, it wasn't as if she didn't have her share of secrets, too, and Anybodys figured she could give him a pass, just this once, since he _was_ a Jet. And since it was Christmas, and all. Not that she cared.

Besides, she was feeling pretty damn happy now, and if the gin was the cause of that (and what else _would_ be?), she definitely didn't want to do anything to make him take it away. At that thought, Anybodys clutched her bottle tighter and took another swig. Yes, that was definitely much better.

"So whatcha wanna do now?" she giggled, spinning around in circles and watching the walls revolve around her.

A-Rab hiccuped again. "Find _Pauline_!" he declared with a wobbly grin.

Anybodys abruptly stopped, cringing as the room kept right on moving. "Fine, go do that!" she snapped, annoyed and staggering a little bit. "'F you were a _real_ Jet, though, ya'd have better things to do!"

A-Rab snickered. "Ain't nothin' better _to_ do," he said lazily, reclining against the glass of the pinball machine. "'S_Christmas_, remember?" he mocked. "No one around to annoy! Well, 'cept you," he added as an afterthought.

Ignoring him, Anybodys thought furiously through the haze of alcohol before she had it: "A-Rab. Who's gotta work on Christmas?" she demanded, taking another gulp of the gin bottle in her hand.

A-Rab sat up straight. "_Santa_," he said immediately, before turning bright red. "Y'know…if ya _believe_ in Santa. An' I don't."

Anybodys rolled her eyes. "Sure," she said, but let it go. She had more important things to talk about. "Who else, dummy?"

A-Rab belched. "Well, doctors, an' nurses," he offered, patting his stomach.

"Who else?" Anybodys prodded impatiently.

A-Rab appeared to think about this. "Well, taxi drivers, an' churchy people, an' cops—" His eyes widened and he turned to her with a look of dawning recognition in his eyes. "_Cops_."

Anybodys threw up her hands, sloshing gin on the floor. "_Yeah_, cops, took ya long enough!" she huffed. "Look, Schrank's just the kinda S.O.B. that'd be workin' on Christmas, right?"

"Right," A-Rab nodded vigorously, smirking. "An' y'know, I bet he's gotta be pretty sad, up there at the station house all by his lonesome. 'Specially since we already paid a visit to Krupke yesterday. Wouldn' want Schrank to feel left out, now would we?"

"A'course," Anybodys grinned, pleased that he finally seemed to be catching on and looking like the A-Rab she knew and loved to hate. "So whaddaya say we go—"

"Bring 'im tidin's of cheer an' comfort an' joy 'bout the itty baby Jesus?" finished A-Rab, snickering.

"Yep," cackled Anybodys, polishing off the last of her gin and smacking her lips in appreciation. "C'mon, let's go." As a much improved-looking A-Rab staggered off of the pinball machine, clutching his last bottle of very depleted gin, Anybodys stopped him with a grin, remembering something from their earlier conversation. "A-Rab?" she asked innocently.

A-Rab glanced boozily over his shoulder at her. "Yeah?"

"How many Christmas songs d'ya know?"

.

"_Krupke roastin' on an open fire!_"

A-Rab and Anybodys were on their fourth carol, and as no reaction seemed to be forthcoming from the window they knew opened on Schrank's office, A-Rab had gotten a little creative with the lyrics to "The Christmas Song."

"_Goddard rippin' up your nose!_" he continued in a lamentably off-key, operatic warble. "_All the coppers bein' thrown in the fire, and Schrank dressed up like buffa_—aww, I'm bored, Anybodys," A-Rab whined, breaking off mid-word. "Nothin's happenin'!"

"Just wait," said Anybodys determinedly, watching the window as steadily as she could with the gin still swimming in her bloodstream. "He's gotta be in there."

"But I'm _bored_," A-Rab repeated, actually stomping his feet. He was, thought Anybodys testily, apparently under the impression that she hadn't heard him the first time.

"I _know_," she ground out. "_Wait_. Sing another song, will ya?"

"Gee, you're grouchy when the cops don' show," snickered A-Rab. "What, ya ain't used to guys standin' ya up by now?"

Anybodys glared at him. Had she _really_ been almost missing this idiot's cracks? There was no sign of the Debbie Downer now, that was for sure. "_Just. Sing._"

A-Rab took a gulp from his bottle and cackled again. "Yes, _ma'am._"

Just as he started in on a round of "_Hark! The drunken Santas sing_," they heard a creaking noise as Schrank's window edged up with apparent difficulty and the lieutenant poked his head out.

"What're youse kids doin' down there?" Schrank demanded, eyeing them with obvious dislike. "I'm tryin' to _work_here!"

"Awww, Lieutenant, we's just tryin' to spread a little holiday cheer for Christmas," protested A-Rab innocently. "Ain'tcha got no _heart_?"

"Take yer holiday cheer an' _shove it_," growled Schrank, slamming the window down.

Anybodys turned to A-Rab, grinning boozily. "A-Rab, I'm thinkin' Schrank needs an _extra_ dose'a happiness an' Christmas cheer!" she announced sanctimoniously.

A-Rab hiccuped. "Hell, yeah!" he cackled. "Ready?"

Anybodys snickered. "Ready."

"_HERE WE COME, A-WASSAILIN', AMONG THE LEAVES SO GREEN!_"

_Screak!_ went the window as Schrank shoved it open again. Before he could say anything, though, A-Rab and Anybodys continued: "_Here we come a-wand'rin', so fair to be seen!_"

"Shut it!" Schrank bellowed.

"_Love an' joy come to you, and to you yer wassail, too, an' God bless ya an' send ya a happy New Year, an' God send ya a happy New Year!_"

"SHUT YER TRAPS!"

A-Rab paused thoughtfully, scratching his head. "Y'know, I ain't so sure I wanna share my wassail with 'im," he announced to Anybodys, waving his nearly-empty gin bottle. "He ain't got the holiday spirit, tha's for sure."

"Whatta Scrooge," Anybodys said mournfully, snatching the bottle away from him and draining the last of it.

"Santa won' be bringin' ya no presents, Scroogie!" cautioned A-Rab very seriously, shaking his finger up at the enraged Schrank before glancing in befuddlement at his empty hands.

"I don' get no presents, I'm an adult!" snarled Schrank. "Now _can it_!"

And the window crashed shut again.

A-Rab snickered. "Ya hear that?" he asked Anybodys. "He thinks he's an _adult_." He smirked. "_I'll_ give 'im _adult_." Opening his mouth, he drew a deep breath:

"_Deck my ba_—"

Anybodys whacked him on the back. "_A-Rab_!" she hissed, "not in front'a the _nuns_! Ya wanna go to hell?!"

Hacking and wheezing from the unexpected blow, A-Rab swung around. Sure enough, two very unamused nuns were staring over at the pair, lips pursed and eyebrows raised. Once he caught his breath, A-Rab grinned innocently at them. "I mean," he corrected, clearing his throat, "_Deck the halls with boughs of holly_!"

Rolling her eyes as the nuns scurried away, darting suspicious glances at them, Anybodys joined in as they both sang:

"_Fa-la-la-la-laaa, la-la-la-la!_"

An inarticulate roar was heard somewhere in the building. Snickering madly, the pair waved as Schrank shoved his window open and thrust his head outside. "Shaddup!" he roared.

A-Rab and Anybodys shared a smirk as they pointedly sang the next line: "_'Tis the season to be jolly!_"

"Beat it!" shouted Schrank angrily.

"_FA-LA-LA-LA-LAAAAA, LA-LA-LA-LA!_"

"SHADDUPSHADDUPSHADDUP!" screeched Schrank, before slamming the window down so hard a distinct cracking noise was heard.

Anybodys stared up in surprise. "Well, he ain't very jolly," she noted, miffed. "Whadda we do now?"

A-Rab stroked his nonexistent beard. "Maybe," he said thoughtfully, "what he needs is a better _song_."

"_Yeah_!" agreed Anybodys enthusiastically, hopping up and down and almost falling over in her excitement.

A-Rab smirked. "Ya thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?" he asked, draping his arm over her skinny shoulders.

"That ya oughta getcher mitts offa me afore I do it myself?" asked Anybodys in a very serious voice.

A-Rab hastily pulled his arm back. "Well, 'side from that," he said nonchalantly.

Anybodys grinned. "You betcha I am." Yanking A-Rab closer, she whispered in his ear. A-Rab's eyes widened and he grinned mischievously before nodding vigorously and straightening up to face the window.

"_We wish you a Merry Christmas, we wish you a Merry Christmas, we wish you a Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year!_"

Pause.

"Huh," said Anybodys, surprised. "He ain't comin' to the window."

"Maybe he's un-Scrooged himself an' he's gonna come down an' give us a turkey," A-Rab cackled, staggering a little.

Anybodys stared at him. "You're scarin' me again, A-Rab. Shut up."

"Yes, ma'am!" cracked A-Rab, saluting.

Anybodys eyed him, but didn't comment further before launching into the refrain. A-Rab joined her after the first few words: "_Good tidin's to you, an' youse an' yer kin, good tidin's fer Christmas, an' a Happy New Year!_"

Another pause as A-Rab and Anybodys waited with bated breath for a reaction. When none came, Anybodys frowned, her head starting to clear a bit. "I don' get it."

A-Rab shrugged. "I guess he's comin' around?"

Anybodys raised an eyebrow. "Maybe. Anyway, I like this part."

"_Oh, bring us some figgy puddin', oh, bring us some figgy puddin', oh, bring us some figgy puddin', an' a cuppa good cheer!_"

Still nothing.

"Maybe he put earplugs in," said Anybodys, frowning.

A-Rab smirked. "Well, then, we just gotta be louder, that's all."

Anybodys grinned. "I could do that." As one, they turned to face the window:

"_WE WON'T GO UNTIL WE GET SOME, WE WON'T GO UNTIL WE GET SOME, WE WON'T GO UNTIL WE_—"

_Smack_.

Anybodys gaped at a dazed A-Rab, who was reaching up to remove a sticky clump of dark cake from his face.

"_There_!" shouted Schrank triumphantly, hanging out of the window with a deranged glint in his eyes. "Ya got your goddamn figgy puddin'! Now _beat it_!"

There was a silence.

"Actually," A-Rab offered helpfully at last, sticking the chunk of cake in his mouth, "'s a fruitcake."

That was apparently the last straw for Schrank.

"Look, kid," he bellowed, having seemingly lost all self-control, "I got your ol' man downstairs in the clink, right where we put 'im las' night, an' I ain't above lettin' ya spend Christmas in there with him! An' if ya ain't gone by the time I get down there, _I will_!" Roaring incoherently, he slammed down the window and disappeared. Anybodys could hear thumping sounds from inside; presumably, he was about to come get them.

She glanced at A-Rab, whose shoulders were sagging as he glared at the snow on the pavement. "I guess we better split," he muttered without looking at her.

It was as if one of the rides at Palisades Park had gone from being a screaming good time to throwing them off to splat onto the concrete. Anybodys didn't like the look on A-Rab's face at all; it reminded her of how she felt whenever she went home and saw Sissy getting ready to leave for the night. Even on Christmas Eve, and even on Christmas. Schrank, the lousy, rotten, scumbag rat that he was, had no business putting that look on _anyone_'s face, least of all a _Jet's_. And there was no way she was going to let him get away with it.

Anybodys shook her head slowly, a wicked grin spreading on her face. "No way. I got a better idea."

.

By the time a red-faced and wheezing Schrank flung the door open, A-Rab and Anybodys were nowhere to be seen. Schrank stared out at the street for a minute, then shook his head in disgust. "Kids these days," he muttered sourly. Turning to go back inside, he didn't see two figures sneak up behind him.

A-Rab cleared his throat politely. "Hey, uh, Lieutenant? About that jail cell…"

Schrank wheeled around, eyes widening as he caught sight of the Terrible Twosome, arms laden with piles upon piles of snowballs. "Oh, _hell_ no—"

Tossing a snowball in her hand, Anybodys smirked. "Merry Christmas, Lieutenant."

.

"Well, that was fun," remarked Anybodys as she and A-Rab stopped to catch their breath on a fire escape after a chase involving eleven blocks, two squad cars, and one very enraged, snow-covered Schrank. "I gotta say, it was even better'n waterballoonin' Krupke yesterday."

"Yeah, an' those _froze_," puffed A-Rab as he bent over, wheezing and massaging his stomach through his coat. He held out the remains of the fruitcake that he had managed to save. "Want some?"

Anybodys made a disgusted noise. "Not if it landed on your _head_, dimwit."

A-Rab shrugged as he stuck the fruitcake in his mouth instead. "Shoo' ye'shelf," he managed.

Anybodys eyed him in disdain. "That's _gross_."

"No, iss froo'cake," corrected A-Rab in a superior voice as he swallowed the cake with a distinctly froglike gulp. "Anyway, shouldn' ya be goin' home, little girl? It's late," he said in that same superior voice, gesturing at the lengthening shadows around them.

Anybodys shifted uncomfortably. "Might wanna ask yourself the same question," she returned, brushing icicles off the railing of the fire escape and watching them fall to the snow-covered alley below. She had a feeling they both knew why it was, exactly, that neither of them was in any hurry to go home. Normally it would have bothered her that A-Rab had anything on her, even if it was something so vague as the fact that she didn't want to be at home, but she had just as much, and more, actually, on him. And after all, thought Anybodys, gazing at the white rooftops of West Side, it _was_ Christmas. The Jets were family. Her family. And if that meant A-Rab was family too, well….

A-Rab glanced sideways at her. After a moment, he shrugged. "So, uh, game 'a darts back at Doc's?" he asked carefully.

Anybodys turned to look at him, one eyebrow lifting. "You're gonna lose," she warned.

A-Rab grinned. "That's what _you_ think, little girl."

Anybodys shot him an innocent look, tensing her muscles. "Bet I can beat ya there, too," she said idly. Then she grinned. "Just watch me."

A-Rab yelped as she took off flying. "Hey, no fair!"

"All's fair in love an' war, A-Rab," Anybodys cackled over her shoulder as she sped off into the darkness, "an' we all know which one _this_ is!"

.

.end.

* * *

Note the Second: The "improved" Christmas carols were taken from the Santacon 2008 songbook found in pdf form here:

http://santarchy. com/other/santacon-carol-book. pdf

with "The Christmas Song" adapted especially for The Three Stooges of the WSS Police Station. :) Also, do not expect an update anywhere near as fast as this one was. I only have a page or two of the next chapter written out, unfortunately, and I'll be going out of town on Wednesday to visit my sister. I shall endeavor to update before then, but don't hold your breath. :)

Music: Alas, I could only find one recording of this song that I liked on iTunes, and it's a purely instrumental version by The Cool Yule All-Stars. Yep.

Hint: Tommy Abbott and Francesca Bellini. Have at it, you two. :)

love, viennacantabile


	5. five: angels we have heard on high

Disclaimer: So, I own _West Side Story_. Yeah. I also invented Christmas, am secretly Santa Claus, and single-handedly caused the world to adopt the phrase "that's what she said" as its own. Yep. Ooh! And also, Bernice is the creation of **LCV Productions**. :)

Note: Ugh, so it's been longer since my last update than I wanted, but I do have an excuse: I was visiting my sister, and she managed to kill my laptop. Cue much panicking for a week. Fortunately, though, my parents agreed to get me a new MacBook Pro ahead of schedule, and the Apple Store people were able to retrieve all of my files from the dead laptop. Yay for Santa Apple! So yeah, that is my mea culpa. I am sorry. -_- Will try and update again tomorrow, but I think it's safe to say that I definitely won't be finishing by Christmas, hahaha, though I'm still happy because with this chapter, merry christmas with love is officially half done! As always, any dates mentioned are based on the movie occurring in June of 1957. Further notes at the end!

For: **HedgehogQuill**, and **Megfly**, for virtually holding my hand throughout the long and terrible week I was unable to write. Thanks, you lovelies. :) Also, Merry Christmas to the whole WSS fandom! Yep, all four of you. -_-;

—viennacantabile

* * *

merry christmas with love

five : angels we have heard on high

…_in which Gee-Tar sounds decidedly un-angelic._

.

Angels we have heard on high  
Sweetly singing o'er the plains  
And the mountains in reply  
Echoing their joyous strains

Gloria in excelsis Deo  
Gloria in excelsis Deo

.

Christmas, 1955

.

Bernice sighed. There was just no getting around it: it was Christmas, she was at home alone, and she was utterly _bored_.

It was just that there was nothing to do, thought Bernice as she rolled over to stare at the ceiling above her bed, and no one around to amuse her. Her parents were over at Aunt Betta's, but Bernice had turned up her nose and begged off, claiming a headache. The food was great and the cousins fun, sure, but Bernice somehow didn't feel like more family togetherness after she'd been subjected to two unbelievably long Christmas Eve masses the night before.

But now that she was sitting in her room with just two beds and a window for company, Bernice was starting to regret that decision the tiniest bit. Even her prude of a sister would have been company that night, but _no_, Clarice was out—probably with that tall, hunky, blond of a Jet she kept toting around, thought Bernice sourly. She ran down the list of options in her head. Graziella was probably off with Riff; Minnie had mentioned something about baking cookies with some boy she definitely had a crush on, which meant that option was definitely out; and Pauline—Bernice scowled. She wasn't _that_ desperate yet.

So all the girls were accounted for, and while Bernice certainly loved spending time with the guys, she didn't really feel like hunting them down right now. A-Rab was had to be up to his usual mischief, and the Boyer twins were probably stuck in their apartment. And even though both Tiger and Mouthpiece were decent-looking, Bernice somehow wasn't up to the task of tolerating them long enough for things to get…well, fun. And Gee-Tar was probably off stalking her sister. Which left Action, Ice, and Tony. She grimaced. Action had made his feelings about Christmas togetherness pretty clear already, so that was a no. And while Bernice would have been more than happy to spend the day (and night) with Ice, the Jet third-in-command was a source of endless frustration for her. Ice never talked to, never even glanced at girls, even though Bernice had thrown him her most come-hither looks and suggestive innuendos. So that was most likely out, as well, she admitted regretfully.

And Tony, well, thought Bernice with a sigh, Tony never looked at her anymore. Not since last year, and the night she kept trying to convince herself hadn't meant anything at all. That was true for at least one of them, anyway. Even if it wasn't her.

She couldn't help it, though. Even though she'd always hated the idea of being stuck with one person, Bernice had to admit that with Tony, she'd felt a little different. Tony had big plans, dreams. Tony was going places, even if no one knew where. And just for a little while, he'd made her feel like she could be going places, too. He'd made her feel like she could do anything and everything, just like him.

But all that was gone now, she knew. He'd turned out to be just another boy; an ordinary, entirely non-magical guy who took what he wanted and left when he got it. Nowadays, every time Bernice tried to say something to him, Tony just nodded and smiled and didn't see her at all. He never told her to go take a hike, sure, but it was probably just because he didn't even think about her enough to be annoyed. Every hint she dropped about going out (or even staying in) just bounced off him like a quarter.

Bernice scowled. He certainly hadn't been too picky about going home with _Pauline_. But then, Pauline was a tart, thought Bernice disdainfully, and _she_ had to take the direct approach when it came to getting guys. Bernice, on the other hand, hadn't sunk that low yet, and she hoped she never would.

But that high-minded attitude didn't exactly help tonight. She was still stuck at home, alone in her bedroom. What a way to spend Christmas, Bernice thought with another sigh. She never would have admitted it to anyone else, but the truth was that she was lonely. And even if Tony hadn't turned out to be the boy for her, he was still the one she thought about, more than anyone else in the world. Pathetic, she knew, but she couldn't help it.

"Anyone home?"

Bernice sat up straight, surprised and not a little pleased. "Clarice?"

Sure enough, the other Gambini twin came through the door after a few minutes, stretching and yawning. "Oh, hi, Bernice."

Bernice brightened. Clarice was uptight and annoying, sure, but she was still her sister, and therefore counted as company. "Hey, prude," she said casually, taking care not to let her twin realize how glad she was to see her. "Done the deed yet?"

Clarice gave her a withering look. "Merry Christmas to you, too." She sat primly on her bed. "I an' Frankie were just havin' hot chocolate at Doc's."

"Oh, so _that's_ what the kids call it these days," parried Bernice, unable to resist. "Can I have some hot chocolate, too?"

Clarice rolled her eyes. "Oh, shut up. He gave me this," she said, waving a huge box in the air.

"What's that?" asked Bernice with interest. Then she smirked. "Or is it somethin' I shouldn't be seein'?"

"Very funny," said Clarice, giving her twin a withering stare. Walking over, she raised the top of the box and shook it so Bernice could see its contents. "He gave me chocolate. Very _nice_ chocolate."

Bernice reached out and snatched a particularly tempting piece. "Yeah, it ain't bad," she agreed thickly.

Clarice glared indignantly at her. "_Bernice_!"

"What?" wondered Bernice innocently, chewing happily away. "Don't I gotta make sure he ain't tryin' to poison ya or somethin'?"

Clarice just huffed and sank back down onto her bed with a sigh. "I hope that goes straight to your hips," she announced.

Bernice shrugged in attempted nonchalance as she swallowed the chocolate that now seemed to be sticking in her throat. "Prob'ly will."

Clarice straightened up and glanced narrowly at her. "You feelin' okay?"

Bernice stiffened, hoping that her sister's annoyingly accurate twin-sense wasn't up to speed today. "Yeah, why?"

Clarice frowned. "You seem kinda…off."

"I am just fine," said Bernice in a high-pitched voice. "Since when do you care, anyway?"

Clarice pursed her lips, but didn't reply. After a minute, though, she got up and walked back over to sit uncomfortably close to Bernice, who eyed her warily. "You sure?"

"I hate it when ya do that," grumbled Bernice crossly, scooting away.

Clarice raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Give me the sob-story sympathy voice!" expostulated Bernice huffily. "Like if I just tell ya my troubles, I'll feel loads better!"

"Well, maybe ya will," reasoned Clarice with a shrug. "Ya won't know until ya try."

Bernice hesitated. Clarice was probably talking out of her ass; there was no way Bernice would feel better about anything, least of all boys who had fun and dropped you right after, if she had to _talk_ about it. But still…. Bernice sighed. Maybe her sister had a point.

"Come on," Clarice urged softly, putting a tentative hand on her shoulder. "You know you can tell me anythin'."

Bernice glanced at her twin. Making up her mind, she opened her mouth—

"_Angels we have heard on high! Sweetly singin' o'er the plains!_"

Bernice froze. "What the _hell_—?"

"_And the mountains in reply! Echoin' their joyous strains!_"

Clarice paled. "There's only one idiot annoyin' enough to come out here an' do that—"

"_GLOOO-O-O-O-O-OOO-O-O-O-O-OOO-O-O-O-O-OOORIA! In excelsis Deo!_"

"Yep," agreed Bernice, rolling her eyes as she recognized that prepubescent whine, "it's _Gee-Tar_."

"_GLOOO-O-O-O-O-OOO-O-O-O-O-OOO-O-O-O-O-OOORIA! In excelsis Deo!_"

Clarice groaned "An' it was such a good day, too."

"_Shepherds, why this jubilee? Why your joyous strains prolong?_"

"Well, it's only fair," offered Bernice wickedly. "Riff said they both gotta share, right? Well, Big Deal's already had his turn today, I guess it's Gee-Tar's now."

"_What the gladsome tidin's be? Which inspire your heav'nly song?_"

"How generous of ya," snipped Clarice, flopping back on her own bed with a muffled shriek.

"_GLOOO-O-O-O-O-OOO-O-O-O-O-OOO-O-O-O-O-OOORIA! In excelsis Deo!_"

"Thanks. Y'know, he's got an awful voice," observed Bernice complacently. "Really bad."

"_GLOOO-O-O-O-O-OOO-O-O-O-O-OOO-O-O-O-O-OOORIA! In excelsis Deo!_"

Clarice shot a look at her. "Yeah. I know."

"_Come to Bethlehem an' see! Christ Whose birth the angels sing!_"

"Wow," mused Bernice, awed in spite of herself. "He actually knows the third verse. Wonder if he'll sing the fourth?"

"_Come adore on bended knee! Christ the Lord, the newborn King!"_

Clarice turned pale. "There's a _fourth_?"

"_GLOOO-O-O-O-O-OOO-O-O-O-O-OOO-O-O-O-O-OOORIA! In excelsis Deo!_"

"Yup," nodded Bernice helpfully. "But don' worry, he prob'ly won't know it."

"_GLOOO-O-O-O-O-OOO-O-O-O-O-OOO-O-O-O-O-OOORIA! In excelsis Deo!_"

"Maybe he'll just go away," Clarice wished faintly.

"_See him in a manger laid! Whom the choirs of angels praise!_"

"Maybe," agreed Bernice cheerfully, feeling her spirits lift unaccountably as Gee-Tar proved that he did, in fact, know the fourth stanza, "an' maybe Ice'll let me jingle his, uh, bells sometime."

"_Mary, Joseph, lend your aid! While our hearts in love we raise!_"

Clarice shot her a withering glare. "Classy."

"_GLOOO-O-O-O-O-OOO-O-O-O-O-OOO-O-O-O-O-OOORIA! In excelsis Deo!_"

Bernice smirked. "Ain't I, though?"

"_GLOOO-O-O-O-O-OOO-O-O-O-O-OOO-O-O-O-O-OOORIA! In excelsis De-e-ooo!_"

Clarice perked up. "That's the end of the song, right?" she hazarded. "No more verses left."

Silence.

"Yeah, I think he's done," said a slightly disappointed Bernice, who rather liked seeing her prim-and-proper sister reduced to howls of frustration.

Clarice breathed a sigh of relief. Then:

"_Angels we have heard on high! Sweetly singin' o'er the plains!_"

Apparently, thought Bernice, her lips twitching, Gee-Tar only knew one Christmas carol.

"_Mon Dieu_," groaned Clarice, grabbing Bernice's pillow and pressing it over her ears. "Will he never shut up?"

"_And the mountains in reply! Echoin' their joyous strains!_"

Bernice smirked, taking a perverse pleasure in seeing her sister so harassed. "Aww, I think it's sweet. He _likes_ ya."

"_GLOOO-O-O-O-O-OOO-O-O-O-O-OOO-O-O-O-O-OOORIA! In excelsis Deo!_"

"Then he oughta serenade _you_, if ya think it's so cute," retorted Clarice through gritted teeth.

"_GLOOO-O-O-O-O-OOO-O-O-O-O-OOO-O-O-O-O-OOORIA! In excelsis Deo!_"

Bernice cackled. "No, thanks, sister dear."

"_Shepherds, why this jubilee? Why your joyous strains prolong?_"

Clarice sat up abruptly. "I can't take this anymore," she announced. "I'm goin' back to Frankie's."

"_What the gladsome tidin's be? Which inspire your heav'nly song?_"

Bernice perked up. "Can I come, too?"

"_GLOOO-O-O-O-O-OOO-O-O-O-O-OOO-O-O-O-O-OOORIA! In excelsis Deo!_"

Clarice glared at her. "_No_."

And with that, she grabbed her purse and hurried out of the room.

"_GLOOO-O-O-O-O-OOO-O-O-O-O-OOO-O-O-O-O-OOORIA! In excelsis Deo!_"

Bernice sat back, disappointed. She'd just been starting to feel the teensiest bit better, and now she was alone again. Boy, she thought grumpily, she sure had the abiiity to clear a room.

"_GLOOO-O-O-O-O-OOO-O-O-O-O-OOO-O-O-O-O-OOORIA! In excelsis Deo!_"

Bernice rolled her eyes. This was getting old. Grabbing her shoes, and, after some thought, Clarice's abandoned box of chocolates, she wrapped her blanket around her shoulders and headed for the window.

As she crawled out, a snow-covered Gee-Tar looked up hopefully. His face fell as he saw the other Gambini twin appear. "Oh. Hi, Bernice," he said morosely. "Clarice in there?"

Bernice scoffed down at him. "Hell, no, she lit outta there when she heard ya wailin'."

Gee-Tar's shoulders sagged. "I guess she don' like that song," he muttered. "D'ya know where she went?"

"No clue," said Bernice delicately. She did, of course, know exactly where Clarice had gone (and if Gee-Tar hadn't been so stupid, he'd have figured it out by now, too), but the code of sisterhood and the Jet girls dictated that she cover for her missing twin. Even if that meant putting up with idiots like Gee-Tar.

"Oh," he sighed. "Well, any chance she'll be comin' back soon?" he asked hopefully.

Bernice shrugged expansively. "She didn' say."

"Oh. Well, I guess I'll wait, then," reflected Gee-Tar seriously.

Bernice stifled a groan. "Ya ain't gonna _sing_ again, are ya?"

Gee-Tar reddened. "I ain't _that_ bad."

Bernice stared. "Yeah. Ya kinda are." She moved to the railing of the fire escape and swept the snow off the wire mesh floor and first step and onto the ground below. She had to stifle a snort when she heard Gee-Tar's muttered curses; her aim was definitely better than his singing. But still, bad company was better than no company at all… "Tell ya what," she proposed, plopping down onto the now-exposed fire escape, her feet on the step, "if ya promise not to sing again, I might stay out here an' keep ya company."

Gee-Tar cocked his head. "Why would ya do that?"

Bernice stiffened. "I—y'know, no one's around, an' it's kinda borin' without Clarice there bein', well—borin'," she stumbled, caught off guard. She hesitated, knowing that she was going to regret saying this, but went ahead, anyway. "An', well—it's Christmas, I guess. Ain't we s'posed to be nice right now?"

Gee-Tar looked curiously up at her. "Yeah," he said after a pause. "I guess we are." He sighed. "Wish Clarice was here, too, then we'd all be havin' fun, y'know?"

Bernice eyed him, feeling a twinge of pity. She didn't know the Jet very well, other than what she'd seen and heard of his puppyish fascination with her twin, and she couldn't help but feel a little bad for him. Clarice was never, ever going to like him—Bernice couldn't blame her, either—and the boy just had no idea. Bernice sighed; then, making sure she had his attention, held out a corner of her blanket.

Gee-Tar furrowed his brow up at her. "Huh?"

"Oh, just c'mere," snapped Bernice, embarrassed. "It's cold."

Gee-Tar shrugged, and, making his way to the stair, clambered clumsily up the fire escape and settled down on the step next to Bernice, awkwardly taking the blanket half she offered him.

"Thanks," he said quietly.

Bernice looked skyward, just as ill at ease as he was, and shrugged. "Yeah."

"So, uh, Merry Christmas," said Gee-Tar uncomfortably.

"Merry Christmas," returned Bernice, equally volubly.

Gee-Tar scratched his head. "So…you an' Clarice share a room?" he offered, in an attempt at conversation.

Bernice raised an eyebrow. She could only imagine how that bit of information was going to figure into his strategy for seducing her twin. "Yep."

Gee-Tar exhaled. "Oh."

Bernice smirked. Yeah, she thought smugly, she'd definitely rained on his parade more than a little bit. "Spoil your plans?"

Gee-Tar's head whipped around and he stared, wide-eyed at her. "Uh—no?"

Bernice snorted. "Yeah, right."

Gee-Tar sighed. "Well, _you_ try bein' romantic with everyone an' his ma around," he muttered darkly. "Look, Bernice, ya gotta help me out, here. I'm doin' everythin' I can think of, an' I know she ain't the kinda girl to let on that she likes me that much, or tell Big Deal to shove off, but it's hard, y'know? Not bein' able to call her my girl."

Bernice chewed on her lip. She hated to admit it, but she was actually feeling a little sorry for the guy. He was just so…clueless. And Clarice couldn't care less. She glanced over at him. "Why're ya so stuck on her, anyway?"

"Well, she's real pretty," began Gee-Tar, "an' real nice, an'—well, she's just a classy dame, y'know?" He shrugged. "Can't really explain it, but y'know how it is when ya meet someone, an' then ya just—like 'em. Just 'cause."

Bernice stared at him, repulsed. Gee-Tar, she decided, was more girl than she was. "You're pathetic."

"Yeah, well," Gee-Tar mumbled, his ears turning red. "You're a chick, right? Don't ya know how it feels when ya just can't get your mind off someone? Even if it's stupid an' it don' make sense?"

Bernice bit her lip. Gee-Tar's words were hitting a little too close to home. "I don't know. Maybe," she hedged, hoping he would talk about something, anything else. Like Clarice's cute little ears or something.

"That, an' her ears're real cute," admitted Gee-Tar, his own ears red.

Bernice gaped open-mouthed at him. When she could talk again, she whacked him severely over the head. "Gee-Tar. Shut _up_."

"Yes, ma'am," muttered Gee-Tar, before subsiding into a pensive silence.

Bernice fidgeted, popping a cherry-flavored chocolate in her mouth. There he was again, doing that thing again, where he made her feel _sorry_ for him. It was even more annoying than Clarice's all-too-understanding psychiatrist voice, because whereas Clarice was at least family, Gee-Tar was most decidedly not and never would be. At this thought, she shuddered and gulped the chocolate down, shaking her head vigorously. If Clarice ever gave Gee-Tar the time of day, Bernice decided, she would happily kill her sister. Even if she _was_ family.

Gee-Tar looked askance at her. "You okay?"

Bernice glanced at him. "Huh? Oh, yeah," she nodded, looking around for a distraction. "Chocolate?" she offered, holding out one of the ones that looked like it didn't have any filling in it—she was definitely saving those for herself.

"Okay," shrugged Gee-Tar, taking the chocolate. He stuck it in his mouth and chewed experimentally. "'S pretty good, where'd ya get it?"

Bernice shut her mouth with a snap. "Um. I—don't remember. A—guy, I guess," she fumbled.

"Oh," said Gee-Tar wisely. "Well, he must be a good guy. An' I bet he likes ya a lot. Otherwise he wouldn' try so hard."

The corner of Bernice's mouth twitched. Gee-Tar was ridiculously close to the truth—just not in the way he thought. "Ya think so?"

Gee-Tar nodded seriously. "I mean, ya might not know this, but us guys'll do a lot for chicks we like," he said, looking faintly embarrassed. "Even if they ain't as encouragin' as we'd like."

Bernice considered this. "An' if ya don' like her?" she asked before she could stop herself.

Gee-Tar tilted his head. "What? Gee, I don' know," he shrugged uncomfortably. "I guess we just don' talk to her all that much."

"Yeah," sighed Bernice discontentedly, remembering the way Tony's eyes had just slid past her for the past year. "That's what I thought."

Gee-Tar finally seemed to grasp her mood. "Hey," he said, glancing at her again. "You okay?"

"What? Yeah," said Bernice impatiently, shaking her head. "God, what is it with people askin' that today?"

"Uh," stumbled Gee-Tar, his face slightly red, "I don' know, maybe ya look…I don' know, like somethin' _ain't_ okay."

"Well, it is," snapped Bernice. "Okay, I mean. Whatever 'it' is."

Gee-Tar held up his hands defensively. "Okay, okay, I was just askin'."

Bernice sighed and propped her chin on her hands. "Why would ya do _that_?" she asked lowly. "It's my sister ya like, not me."

Gee-Tar shifted his weight. "See," he said slowly, "it's Christmas. An' someone tol' me we're s'posed to be nice on Christmas."

Bernice turned her head and gazed at him. "Well, that person was an idiot," she said defiantly. "Wishful thinkin'. The world ain't ever gonna be like that, least of all on West Side."

"I don' know," Gee-Tar disagreed slowly. "I kinda think that person ain't so dumb." He twisted to look at her. Gee-Tar was so close that Bernice could see the pale eyelashes around his blue eyes.

"Yeah, well, you're an idiot, too," she sighed, still watching him.

Gee-Tar winced. "Gee, thanks. Still. At least you've got company, then, huh?"

Bernice stared at him. He was actually right, she thought, amazed. She _wasn't_ alone, at least not literally. And with Gee-Tar there, she didn't have to be. Bernice pursed her lips. Really, she thought grudgingly as the Jet stared awkwardly off into space, the guy wasn't nearly as awful as Clarice made him out to be…

And then, before she knew what she was doing, Bernice leaned forward and found his mouth with hers.

She didn't see stars, but then, she only ever had once, anyway. Gee-Tar stiffened at first, but as Bernice pressed her lips into his, he relaxed, slid his hand around her neck. He tasted like iced tea and mint, a far cry from the cigarettes and chewing gum of his friends, and Bernice, pushing away her loneliness through the boy beside her, let her hands creep forward around his back.

Gee-Tar broke away first, awkwardly lurching backwards to stare at her. He swallowed convulsively. "So."

"So," returned Bernice. They were still so close that she could feel the heat radiating from his body inside the cocoon of the blanket.

Gee-Tar swallowed. "Bernice, I—"

"I ain't my sister," she interrupted evenly, eyes tracing the angular planes of his face.

Gee-Tar shrugged uneasily. "An' I ain't whoever it is you're thinkin' of."

Bernice's eyebrows shot up. Whatever else she thought of him, Gee-Tar was apparently at least a little smarter than she gave him credit for. "Yeah, well, maybe it don' matter right now," she said carefully, hating that she was actually hoping he wouldn't disagree, that he'd stay and let her feel just the least bit—well, not loved, exactly, but—not alone.

Gee-Tar gazed at her for a long moment, not moving. Then, just as Bernice began cursing her own stupidity again, he nodded slowly. "Yeah," he said. "I guess not." Gee-Tar glanced upward at the sky, which was beginning to darken. "So what now?"

The question hung in the air. Bernice blinked. She didn't know how to answer. The next step was both obvious and not obvious; it was whether or not they chose to take it that was the problem.

Did she want to? Gee-Tar wasn't bad to look at, thought Bernice, and as long as he kept his mouth shut about Clarice, she wasn't averse to letting him make her feel wanted. Which was really all she wanted, when it came down to it. And it was plain that Gee-Tar did want her, even if it wasn't in the same way that he wanted her sister.

He certainly wasn't Tony, thought Bernice with a sigh, but maybe, just for tonight, she could lose herself in her fantasies and pretend he was.

Bernice made up her mind. Getting to her feet, she gathered the blanket around herself, took the three steps to her window, and held out her hand to a wary Gee-Tar.

"C'mon in already," she said, the corner of her mouth quirking up into a rueful half-smile. "It's cold."

And Gee-Tar glanced at her, shrugged, and took her hand. "Okay."

.

.end.

* * *

Music: Well, this was a no-brainer: Josh Groban and Brian McKnight's version of "Angels We Have Heard on High," which is quite possibly the best recording of this song in the history of ever. I kid you not. Also, I listened to Philippe Rombi's gorgeous score for _Joyeux Noel_ for a bit while writing last night. :)

Hint: Midge and Mouthpiece. Expect a theatre of the absurd. :)

love, viennacantabile


	6. six: i want a hippopotamus for christmas

Disclaimer: I love you, Jerome Robbins and Arthur Laurents. Please don't kill me for playing with your creations. :)

Note: I think my new goal is to get this done before classes start again on January 7th. We shall hope. :) Anyway, a few things: my interpretation of Mouthpiece is based on and exaggerated from what I saw from the incredibly adorable Harvey Hohnecker/Evans's portrayal in the movie. Midge O'Quinn, the female lead in this chapter, is the creation of **Megfly**. Their pairing is the utterly cracktastic funhouse known as Midgepiece. As always, any dates mentioned are based on the movie occurring in June of 1957. Further notes at the end!

For: The usual suspects, **HedgehogQuill**, **SheWhoDreamsByDarknes****s-x**, and **xXc0okieSsNcrEamXx**. But really, this is for **Megfly**, because she invented the best OC in the history of ever and convinced me that a non Mary-Sue, non-crazy OC could be written. Which was a minor miracle, I assure you. Anyway, here is your late Christmas present, along with thanks for letting me borrow Midge and hopes that I have done her justice. Thank you. :)

—viennacantabile

* * *

merry christmas with love

six : i want a hippopotamus for christmas

…_in which Mouthpiece wants a hippopowhatchamacallit for Christmas_.

.

I want a hippopotamus for Christmas  
Only a hippopotamus will do  
No crocodiles or rhinoceroseses  
I only like hippopotamuseses  
And hippopotamuses like me too!

.

Three weeks before Christmas, 1957

.

"Midgeroo," said Mouthpiece thoughtfully, "d'ya think my ma'd get me a hippopowhatchamacallit for Christmas this year?"

Midge, sitting ramrod-straight on one of the stools at Doc's, wasn't sure which part of his question was more ludicrous—_'Midgeroo_,' or the thought of Mouthpiece's poor mother getting him a _hippopotamus_ for Christmas. Instead, she settled for frowning owlishly at him behind her glasses as she set her copy of _The Wall Street Journal_down on the counter. "And why, exactly, would you want a hippopotamus?" she asked acerbically.

"'Cause it's a _hippopotatopie_," said Mouthpiece happily, as if that explained everything. Which, Midge thought wryly, considering it was Mouthpiece, it probably did.

"Well," she said truthfully, "I'm not quite certain. What brought this on, in any case?" she asked helplessly, even though Midge wasn't quite sure she wanted to hear. Who knew why Mouthpiece did anything, anyway?

"See," explained Mouthpiece happily, spinning around on his stool, "I saw a picture of a hippopoodle in this book that Riff got me las' year to color in, an' then I heard that song by that little girl—you know that one, it goes like this—" He hummed a few very off-key bars. "An', well, I always wanted a pet!"

Midge eyed him half-fearfully. It had been almost six months since that summer night, and most of the Jets still consciously avoided saying Riff or Tony's name. Midge couldn't really blame them, either—after all, even if she didn't really have very many friends (if any), she thought she could imagine what it would be like to lose someone very close to you. Something like misplacing her glasses, or favorite textbook, she presumed. But probably worse.

Mouthpiece, though, didn't really seem to be having a problem with talking about Riff, at least not as far as Midge could see. But then, Mouthpiece wasn't exactly the most emotionally advanced teenage boy she knew. If she knew any. Which was highly doubtful.

Midge decided to ignore the mention of Riff for the time being. "That would be quite a time-consuming pet," she said dryly.

"I wouldn' mind. Action said hippopatooties are for babies, though," Mouthpiece went on mournfully.

At this, Midge perked up. "Well, the hippopotamus _was_ the Egyptian goddess of childbirth, you know," she informed him.

Mouthpiece furrowed his brow. "Huh?"

"Yes; Taweret," said Midge brightly, pleased at last to be on familiar footing. "The identification derives from the ancient Egyptians' observations that the female hippopotamus was quite aggressively protective of her young, you know."

Mouthpiece goggled at her. "Gee. You're _smart_, Midgenius."

Midge's eyes widened. "Yes—well," she stumbled, with a little cough. It was so rare that she received compliments (especially from _boys_) that she wasn't quite sure how to react. "I—thank you."

Mouthpiece had already forgotten all about it, though. "Gee, d'ya think he'd gobble me up, though?" he asked, frowning as the thought visibly struck him. "A-Rab says he would, an' I guess he'd know."

Midge stared at him. "_Mouthpiece_. A-Rab," she sniffed disdainfully, "is wrong. It's just like in the song. Hippopotamuses," she said slowly, as if she were talking to a child (which, really, Midge thought with a sigh, she was), "are _herbivores_. Vegetarians," she clarified after a moment, supposing that Mouthpiece might have a better chance of decoding the latter term than the former.

Mouthpiece goggled. "What's a vegytubblearius?"

Midge sighed. She should have known better than to try a five-syllable word on him. "An animal or person who doesn't eat meat," she explained resignedly.

Mouthpiece furrowed his brow and absorbed this for a minute. "You mean…like pot roast?"

Midge nodded wearily. "Yes. Meat like pot roast."

Mouthpiece's jaw dropped. "But I _like_ pot roast."

"Yes," Midge repeated all-too-patiently, wondering for the twentieth time if Mouthpiece really had only been dropped on his head just _once_ when he was a child, "but vegetarians _don't_."

"Oh," Mouthpiece said, subsiding into a thoughtful silence. After a minute, he brightened. "Well," he offered, "if the hippokaloric don' like my ma's pot roast, I guess that means I get more."

"You might think of it that way," agreed a slightly surprised Midge as she pushed her glasses up. Oddly enough, his train-of-thought—Midge couldn't bring herself to call it logic—did seem to make sense. Maybe there was hope for Mouthpiece, after all.

"I can' wait for my hippotabulous," grinned the tall Jet obliviously. "Hey, I bet he can be the Jet mascot-thingamajib an' he can fight Krupke an' alla them coppers for us!"

Or, reconsidered Midge with another sigh, maybe not.

The tall girl adjusted her glasses. "Mouthpiece," she said reasonably, "hippopotamuses require an enormous amount of time and effort. It's not exactly like getting a dog, you know."

"Well, yeah," nodded Mouthpiece cheerfully. "See, Ma said we couldn' get a dog 'cause we don't got the money an' anyway even if we did our lan'lord wouldn' let us 'cause he don' like animals an' then we'd have to go find a new place to live but we don't got money. So that's why I want a hipporama now."

Midge bit her lip and glanced at the lanky Jet, feeling a bit chastened despite his twisted logic. Of course she knew that many of the Jets came from less-than-desirable homes, but it was difficult to remember in cases like Mouthpiece's, where he genuinely didn't seem to mind or even understand the implications of what little she had learned of his living arrangements. "Oh," she said awkwardly. "I…well, I'm sure your mother loves you, so…even if she can't get you a hippopotamus, you should be very happy," Midge finished firmly.

"I know," agreed Mouthpiece comfortably. "I still want a hippomatopolous, though."

Midge ducked her head, avoiding Mouthpiece's wide grin. There were three weeks left for Mouthpiece's wish to come true, but somehow, she very much doubted the Jet would be getting what he wanted for Christmas this year. Hopefully, she thought, this would just be yet another one of Mouthpiece's short-lived fascinations, much like his keeping of a pet rock and his conviction that chocolate was a health food and his insistence that ceiling fans were alive had been.

"Hippoalpha, hippobeta, hippogamma," chanted Mouthpiece, wriggling on his stool excitedly.

Midge winced. Hopefully.

.

As the weeks passed, though, Mouthpiece's fixation on hippopotamuses seemed much more akin to his perpetual obsession with trains, Velma Andersen, and yodeling. It just went to show, Midge thought with a sigh, that the one time his memory lasted longer than thirty seconds, it had to be about something as ridiculous as _hippopotamuses_. And even though it was now the morning of Christmas Eve, and there still wasn't any kind of indication that Mrs. Winkle would be putting a hippopotamus under the tree that night, Mouthpiece rather obviously still hadn't given up hope.

"—an' then I'll take my hippopaloogie all around the world, an' we'll fight all the bulls in PR-land, an' we'll climb that Mount Everwhatsit in Sweden, an' we'll go to the Great Wall of China in—" He stopped, screwing up his face.

Midge stared at him from her seat in the back of Doc's, her face a mixture of disbelief and horror. There was so much wrong with what he just had said that she gaped in silence for a full minute before she finally chose to concentrate on the part that she felt would hurt his brain the least: "Mouthpiece. _Please_ tell me you know where the Great Wall of China is."

Mouthpiece thought for a second, leaning precariously back on his chair. Then his broad face widened into an ecstatic grin. "Um…California? There're lotsa yellow people there, right?"

Midge dropped her face into her hand. "Mouthpiece," she said in a muffled groan, "try to think, for the smallest moment. It's in the name. The Great—Wall—of—_China_."

Mouthpiece's brow furrowed as he frowned and scratched his head. "But there ain't no country named 'The Great Wall of China,' Midgerest, don'tcha know that?" he asked patronizingly.

Midge resisted the urge to cry.

"Anyway, Santa Claus'll bring me a hippoparade, Midgenormous," said Mouthpiece confidently, "just wait. Santa'll do it."

Midge was fortunately saved from having to respond to this doubtful assertion when a very distressed Minnie rushed over, her crinolines bouncing.

"Oh, Midge, Johnny's got himself tangled up and I can't get him out!" she explained fretfully. "Can you help?"

Frowning, Midge glanced over to the Christmas tree where Minnie and Baby John had been working for the past hour. Her jaw dropped. Baby John was looped up in at least fifty feet of Christmas lights and tinsel that wound in and out through his hair, clothes, and limbs. Midge thought she could even see a bulb or two sticking out of his sneakers.

"Y—yes, I suppose I'll help, Minnie," she agreed weakly, getting to her feet. "Just—please stop sounding so distressed. You're making me nervous."

"Oh, thank you!" Minnie gushed, taking Midge's hand to pull her over to the befuddled Baby John.

Midge, though, glanced at Mouthpiece and frowned. Who knew what mischief the near-child would get up to if left to his own devices? She looked around the room at all the Jets and their girls, most of whom seemed quite absorbed in each other, with the possible exception of Action, who was scowling so fiercely Midge thought his face was liable to stay that way if he kept it up much longer. Well, no one else seemed to have the presence of mind to take care of him, so Midge supposed it was up to her. She heaved a sigh and gestured at the tall Jet. "Come along, Mouthpiece," she instructed, feeling quite like a kindergarten teacher. "You can—oh, hold the ornaments, or something."

"'Kay," beamed Mouthpiece, hopping up from his chair and lumbering along after them with elephantine grace.

Midge felt her hand being squeezed. "That was nice, Midge," Minnie said happily in a low voice.

Midge immediately turned fire-engine red. "What? Oh—no—I—I simply wanted to keep him out of trouble," she stumbled. "I—"

Minnie smiled at her friend. "It was really nice," she repeated dreamily, and turned back around to lead them over to disentangle Baby John.

Midge stared at Minnie, glanced back at the soppily grinning Mouthpiece, and groaned. "I knew I was spending too much time with these people," she said to no one in particular, then resignedly followed Minnie, a humming Mouthpiece tagging along obliviously after her.

.

There didn't seem to be any way around it.

"Minnie," she said determinedly as the two girls began the walk home with Baby John, "where would I be able to buy a hippopotamus? A toy one," she clarified, as Minnie opened her mouth, looking confused.

Minnie blinked. "Oh," she said. "But—why do you need a toy hippopotamus?"

"That is exactly what I would like to know," muttered Midge under her breath. "It's for Mouthpiece," she qualified, clearing her throat and feeling uncomfortably warm. "You know he won't stop dithering about having a hippopotamus for Christmas. I think it's that silly song."

Minnie's lips curved into a smile as she shared a pleased glance with Baby John on her right. "Oh, Midge, that's so nice of you," she cooed.

Midge flinched. There was that Minnie-word again. "Well—no—not really," she said awkwardly.

Minnie paid her no heed. "I'm sure Mouthpiece will be really happy," she beamed. "He _does_ seem to want one, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, Mouthpiece'll really like it," chimed in Baby John enthusiastically. "An' a toy one won't eat him, like A-Rab said it would."

Midge heaved a sigh. "A-Rab," she informed Baby John sternly, "is wrong. The diet of the hippopotamus consists largely of terrestrial grasses. It is not carnivorous. In any case, a stuffed hippopotamus won't require feeding or care, and furthermore, will not be prone to marking its territory in the manner of adult male hippopotamuses."

"Gee, how do they do that?" asked a wide-eyed Baby John.

"They spin their tails and defecate over as large an area as possible," explained Midge obligingly. "It's _fascinating_—though rather messy, of course."

"I'm sure it is," chirped the ever-cheerful Minnie.

"I guess," shrugged Baby John, who, judging from his confused face, hadn't really gotten the gist of that sentence. "Anyway, it'd be kinda hard to find a real hippopotamus, I think."

Midge resisted the urge to groan. Baby John was sweet, yes, but she had no idea what Minnie saw in him. "Yes. It would. Which is why I would like to know where to purchase a facsimile of the animal. As I'm not quite certain."

Minnie blinked. "Didn't your parents ever take you toy shopping, Midge?"

Midge flushed. "I—well, no, not exactly," she hedged, taking off her glasses and giving them a quick polish. "I've never really wanted a toy, other than my books."

When next she put them on, Minnie had a sympathetic smile on her face. "Well," the petite brunette said thoughtfully, glancing at Baby John again, "there's always F.A.O. Schwartz. Or the department store. You could try there."

Midge nodded, trying to ignore the distinct sense of pity she felt emanating from her two friends. "Yes, I—I think I'll try that now. Goodbye," she stammered, then strode swiftly away through the snow to hide her embarrassment, only slowing her pace when she was a good two blocks away. It was inconceivable that she should be feeling the way that she was, Midge thought, biting her lip. She was quite used to being alone with her books, after all. But somehow seeing the look Minnie had exchanged with Baby John drove home the fact that—

Midge scowled. Whatever the fact happened to be, it didn't matter, she thought furiously. After all, books were always there for you. They never let you down, not ever. And she never had to worry about them being there one day, then gone the next. Like Riff, and Tony, and even Bernardo, she forced herself to think. So it was much, much better this way.

Whatever this way was.

.

"No, sorry," said the bored-looking clerk at the department store. "We don't stock hippopotamuses anymore. That song came out four _years_ ago; they're out of date. Now," he added, his smile switching on like a light bulb, "talking and singing squirrels, _those_ I have. They're the prime gift this season!"

Midge shuddered at the thought. "No, thank you."

"Hand-crafted wooden bears?" tried the enterprising salesman.

Midge frowned. "No, thank you."

"Oh, what about these fashion dolls?" exclaimed the salesman with the air of hitting upon exactly the right gift. He held up an impossibly long-legged doll fantastically outfitted in a dress that boasted more crinolines than even Minnie Goddard's skirts, and whose exaggerated facial features spoke not of childhood play, but of Hollywood glamour.

Midge scowled. "Those _dolls_," she acidly informed the salesman, "are a blatant illustration of the misogynistic treatment and expectations of women. In this modern day and age, I would expect you'd know better. Besides," she went on with a huff, "you don't seriously expect that _I_ would fall for that kind of marketing ploy, do you?"

The salesman looked her brown-clad, stick-straight figure up and down and raised an eyebrow. "No, miss," he said after a moment, "I don't suppose you would. We do offer makeovers on the second floor, though, if you're interested," he added pointedly.

Midge turned red. "No, _thank you_."

.

"What are you, crazy?" asked the frazzled salesman at F.A.O. Schwartz, who seemed to have gotten in the habit of twitching every time a child neared him. "We've been out for weeks! They've been so popular after that song came out in '53 that we just can't keep 'em in stock, you know!"

Midge pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. "Yes," she agreed with gritted teeth, "I suppose I _do_ know. Do you have any idea where I might find one?"

Before he could answer, the public address system blared to life. "Attention, please! Santa is now receiving visitors at Igloo Number Four. Santa is now receiving visitors at Igloo Number Four."

The effect this announcement had on the toy store was incredible. A horde of roaring toddlers and parents rushed by on their way to see Santa, sweeping the salesman with them.

"Try the Central Park Zoo gift shop!" screamed the salesman from deep within the crowd as he was dragged away.

Midge stared after him. "All right, then," she said weakly, pushing her glasses up. "The zoo it is."

.

"So you're out," said Midge disappointedly to the square-faced worker at the hippopotamus exhibit. She shoved her glasses up the bridge of her nose and sighed. That was it, she supposed. She'd checked every place Minnie had mentioned, but no one seemed to have any toy hippopotamuses for sale. Well, thought Midge, she had tried. There was really nothing she could do about it, now that it was getting dark. She had to be home soon, and in any case, all the stores would be closing. And—Midge's eyes widened. Was that—

"_Mouthpiece_?" she breathed. Ignoring the confused zoo employee, she crept carefully closer, ducking behind a nearby balloon cart just in case.

The tall figure didn't seem to hear her, but the blond hair and childlike, excited movements confirmed her guess. The lanky Jet was standing with his face pressed to the glass of the hippopotamus enclosure and waving to the animals, clearly ecstatic.

Midge blinked. So he really did want a hippopotamus, she thought, amazed. She still couldn't really see why, but…he wanted one. And he really, truly believed that he was going to get one. And that, Midge supposed, was the important part. She wasn't the most tenderhearted person in the world, like Minnie, but she couldn't let the boy's hopes be crushed come Christmas morning. She just couldn't.

Midge sighed. She really was spending too much time with these Jets.

SPLASH.

Midge jumped, then groaned as she looked in the direction of the sound. There, at the bottom of the hippopotamus habitat pool, sat a dazed Mouthpiece, dripping wet and brushing hay out of his hair.

Midge stared in stunned silence for a full five minutes as various zoo personnel ran around in a panicked state and children screamed about the hippo-man and Mouthpiece happily petted one of his new friends. Then her lips twitched—she couldn't help it.

Mouthpiece, Midge supposed wryly, really _did_ want that hippopotamus.

.

As she walked through the door and into her apartment an hour later, Midge steeled herself. She was about to do one of the most frightening things known to all of man, and science, and God.

"Mother?" she called tentatively. "Are you busy?"

"Oh, hello, sweetheart," sang out Mrs. O'Quinn as she sailed in through the kitchen. "You know I'm _never_ too busy for—what is that smell?" she asked abruptly, sniffing the air and ending up in front of her daughter. "Midge, my dear, you smell like a _barnyard_. Not that I've ever been in a barnyard," she amended, wrinkling her nose.

"I was at the zoo," Midge protested defensively. "Zoos are known for their odiferous fauna!"

"Oh, listen to you," beamed Mrs. O'Quinn. "You're just so _smart_, darling!"

Midge sighed and plunged on. "Anyway—"

"Now, what is it you needed, hmm?" smiled her mother, dusting off a stray piece of hay from her daughter's shoulder.

"Well, you see—"

"You know I'd be _happy_ to help!"

"Yes, I—"

"Name it, cupcake!"

Midge gritted her teeth. "_Mother_. I need your help."

Mrs. O'Quinn beamed. "You just say the word!"

Midge sighed heavily. Well, here goes nothing, she thought hopelessly. "Mother," she said determinedly, "this is what I need to do…"

.

Midge still wasn't exactly sure as to why she was doing this, but as she stood in front of the door to the Winkle apartment on Christmas morning, a befrilled and beribboned bag in her hands, she reasoned that Mouthpiece was such a child that he would probably cry if his little dream of possessing a gigantic four-legged nuisance didn't come true. And for reasons she had already outlined to Minnie and Baby John, Midge wasn't exactly going to go out and get him a hippopotamus, but…. She fidgeted.

There was a fumbling noise at the door, and Mouthpiece peered out. He smiled hugely when he saw her. "Hiya, Smidgen!" he exclaimed, waving furiously and adding wisely, "It's Christmas."

Midge pinched the bridge of her nose—Mouthpiece had such a gift for the obvious. "Yes, it is," she agreed all-too-patiently. "Which is why I'm here, Mouthpiece."

"Oh," said the tall Jet, considering this. "Why _are_ ya here?"

"Since it's Christmas," Midge said in a teacherly voice, "I have a—gift—for you."

"Ya do?" asked Mouthpiece, eyes wide.

Midge nodded, thrusting the bag out at him. "Here," she sighed.

Taking the bag, the boy dug inside and pulled out—

"Aww, gee," Mouthpiece breathed, awed, "it's a _hippopowhat'sitsface_." Holding up the small, lavender stuffed toy—which, Midge noted ruefully, not for the first time, had an inordinate amount of lace on it—he hugged it to his chest.

Watching Mouthpiece's face stretch into his signature dopey grin, Midge felt—well, kind of touched, really, like there was a warm, fuzzy feeling spreading over her. She hated to admit it, but she was pleased that Mouthpiece seemed to like her gift so much.

Midge decided she didn't like this feeling. "Yes," she said briskly, giving herself a shake and pushing her glasses up, "it's a hippopotamus. Merry Christmas, Mouthpiece. I hope you'll be happy now."

"Oh, yeah, you betcha I will," said Mouthpiece ecstatically. "It's a _hipposaurus_." Glancing at Midge, he tilted his head to the side. "So why'd ya get me a hippopudding, Midgeureka?" he asked interestedly.

Midge's mouth dropped open. "Well, you've only been saying you wanted one for the past month," she spluttered.

"I have?" asked Mouthpiece, wide-eyed. "Wow."

"Yes," insisted Midge, quite unable to believe that Mouthpiece had chosen _this_ moment to forget that he had been spouting hippopotamus this, hippopotamus that since Thanksgiving. "You even said Santa would bring you one if your mother couldn't."

"An' see, Midgerette," Mouthpiece said happily, "Santa _did_ bring me a hippotambulance. Good thing, too," he added reflectively, "'cause on account-a me fallin' in the hippo house yesterday, I can't go to see my hippotarius friends at the zoo anymore."

Midge's jaw dropped as she stared at the Jet, dumbfounded. "But—"

"Thanks for helpin' him get it to me, Midge," Mouthpiece breathed, squeezing his hippo so hard that the cotton stuffing bulged out from its seams. He beamed. "Thanks a _bunch_."

Midge shut her mouth with a snap and blinked, feeling slightly embarrassed. "Oh. Well. Yes. You're welcome, then."

"Gee, it's leakin' a little," Mouthpiece said worriedly, peering at the hippopotamus. "D'ya think it's okay?"

Flinching, Midge snatched the toy back from him and made a futile attempt to poke some of the overflowing white stuffing back in through the seams. She winced as the cotton fibers caught on the multiple band-aids stuck to her fingers and groaned. With her luck and abysmal sewing skills, it was lucky Mouthpiece had even recognized it as a…hippopowhat'sitsface. "Yes. It's fine," she snipped defensively. "Just…a little delicate. Be careful."

Mouthpiece's eyes widened. "Gee, are _you_ okay?" he asked concernedly, leaning forward to stare at her hands. "What happened to your fingers?"

"I—well—" Midge stammered. As a rule, Midge found it very difficult to admit she was capable of anything less than a superior level in any kind of skill. Even the more…feminine arts. But then, she thought with a sigh, if there was ever anyone less inclined to think the worse of her for being less than talented there, it was Mouthpiece. "I'm not very good at sewing," she finally admitted in a tiny voice.

"Oh," said Mouthpiece sympathetically. "Me, neither."

Midge went red and thrust the stuffed toy back at him. "I—you—"

"Anyway, _thanks_!" beamed Mouthpiece, taking the lavender hippo and hugging it once more.

"I, um—have to go. Yes. Go," stuttered Midge. "I—well—Merry Christmas!" she blurted, before hurrying away at a very fast clip, praying that her face would turn back to its normal shade before she reached the street. She was still within earshot, however, when Mouthpiece trumpeted a "MERRY CHRISTMAS, MIDGEOPOTAMUS!" down the hall.

Midge rolled her eyes, at last somewhat able to regain her composure after this parting sally. Midgeopotamus. Of all things. Really. In fact, he'd probably name the silly little hippopo—

"That's what I'm gonna name my hippopalooza!" called Mouthpiece cheerfully. "_Midgeopotamus!_"

Midge groaned. And there it was. She was really regretting spending Christmas Eve pricking her fingers unto eternity now; if this was the thanks that was going to come out of it, she'd just as soon listen to the boy whine about hippopotamuses for another month—

Suddenly she felt arms wrapping around her. "_Thanks_, Your Midgesty!" breathed Mouthpiece fervently from behind her. "I think you're real nice!" Then, before she could do anything but turn bright red again, he let go and dashed back into his apartment, leaving a very stunned Midge in the hallway.

After a minute, Midge permitted herself a reluctant smile. Mouthpiece, she supposed, wasn't quite so bad, after all.

.

.end.

* * *

Note the Second: Mouthpiece came up with no less than sixteen variations on 'hippopotamus' and fifteen on 'Midge,' though not all of them were used. Heh. Also, though Mouthpiece referred to Chinese people as 'yellow,' he definitely didn't mean it offensively (and neither do I); he just sort of talks that way. Anyway, kudos if you can find the Little Women and L. Frank Baum references in this chapter! :)

Music: You really can't listen to anything but the original Gayla Peevey recording. :)

Hint: Unless you're involved in the _West Side Story _RP Forum, you probably won't know either of the characters. But I'll try to make it worthwhile, anyway. :)

love, viennacantabile

P.S. All the hippopotamus facts? Are real. Or at least as real as Wikipedia says. Including the one about marking territory. Teehee. :)


	7. seven: i'll be home for christmas

Disclaimer: Do not own anything that I wouldn't logically own. Like the US Navy. :)

Note: I have no excuse for how long this chapter took me except that I was dealing with two OCs created by **HedgehogQuill**, which basically meant I was working blind but for her many helpful hints. I also started spring semester, had strep throat, and had extreme writer's block, sniff. I will try and get the next chapter up sooner, which could happen, but as we're past Christmas now, I am feeling less inspiration. :( It will, however, be finished. I promise. As always, any dates mentioned are based on the movie occurring in June of 1957; Ricky Goddard is Minnie Goddard's big brother who was involved with Elizabeth "Sissy" Hart, Anybodys's big sister-turned-hooker. They broke it off when he joined the Navy upon graduation and a host of unfortunate things happened to Sissy and Anybodys; feel free to PM me if you don't understand anything that has resulted from the minds of **LCV Productions**. Further notes at the end!

For: **SheWhoDreamsByDarkness-x**, **xXco0kieSsNcReamXx**, and especially **Megfly** for consistently reviewing every single chapter. Which warms the cockles of my heart. :) But mostly for **HedgehogQuill**, because she is kind enough to let me mess with characters very near and dear to her heart, and because she's been waiting for this chapter, and because her midterms are finally over, and because her birthday was last week. And because she let me borrow the banana-man. So THANKS! :)

—viennacantabile

* * *

merry christmas with love

seven : i'll be home for christmas

…_in which Ricky makes, and keeps, a promise._

.

I am dreaming tonight of a place I love  
Even more than I usually do  
And though home, I know, is a long way back  
I promise you

Christmas Eve will find me  
Where the love light gleams  
I'll be home for Christmas  
If only in my dreams  
If only in my dreams.

.

Two weeks before Christmas, 1957

.

"_Ensign Goddard_!"

The shout rang across the deck of the USS _Manhattan_. Over by the railing, Ricky Goddard turned around, scanning the figures on the ship before fixing on the voice that had called him. He winced as he saw the short, stocky figure of his commanding officer planted imperiously in front of a plane, but automatically saluted. "Here, sir!"

Captain Clark stumped across the deck to Ricky, coming to a stop only when he was a mere six inches away from the taller sailor. The iron-haired captain gazed sternly up at him for a full five minutes and Ricky, wondering exactly which prank they had found him out for this time, began to sweat. If it was the salt-for-sugar swap in the mess hall, he calculated, he could probably just count on a few days of cleaning duty, but if it was the "liberation" of the Captain's personal stamp collection—Ricky's most daring feat yet—then he was definitely in trouble.

"Turns out you're going home, Goddard," barked the captain, eyes still fixed on Ricky. "The ship's almost back to California, and your service's up."

Ricky blinked. That was definitely not what he'd been expecting. "Sir?" he risked.

"Yep," grunted the square-jawed captain. "You and your harebrained shenanigans won't be my problem anymore. I have to tell you, Goddard, I can't wait."

Ricky flashed a sheepish grin. "Sir, I—"

"Got a girl back home, waiting for you?" growled Captain Clark.

Ricky stiffened a little, wondering what the captain was up to. He hesitated before replying with the truth: "No, sir."

The captain eyed him for a long moment. "Too bad," he finally said, before putting a hand on Ricky's shoulder. "You're a good sailor, ensign, and I wish you luck."

Ricky nodded, a little amazed that the captain seemed to be genuinely wishing him well, despite almost two years of Ricky's pranks and pratfalls aboard the _Manhattan_. "Thanks, sir."

The captain gave him a crusty smile as he began to stump off again. "Don't let the Commies get you on your way out, you hear?"

Ricky grinned and snapped a crisp salute. "No, sir!"

"And Goddard?" added Captain Clark, swiveling around.

Ricky blinked. "Yes, sir?"

The look the Captain gave him could have made a far braver man than Ricky jump off the side of the ship. "That stamp collection better be on my desk by oh-eight hundred hours tomorrow morning, or you'll _wish_ you were on cleaning duty. Got it?"

Ricky attempted a winning smile and gave him a thumbs-up. "Yes, _sir_!"

.

It was strange, mused Ricky as he sauntered back from his stamp-replacement trip at three in the morning, hands stuffed in his pockets, but he'd somehow managed to forget that this December marked the end of his service. He was sure his parents and baby sister Minnie were counting the days til Ricky's train from California arrived in New York, but Ricky's last letter had been delivered almost a month ago, and the date had just slipped his mind.

And who could blame him? he thought idly as he reached the passageway to his quarters. On a whim, Ricky went on, taking the route that led to the deck and the open air. He settled into his favorite spot at the railing facing forward, into the night. Out here, away from the fast cars and steel skyscrapers and everything civilian life offered, it was so easy to never remember that there _was_ another life besides this one. Under the huge, silent canopy of the stars and the night sky, Ricky forgot about life in New York, how he'd shown his little sister the sights, how he'd roamed the streets with a ragtag bunch called the Jets, how he'd fallen in and out of like with girls whose names and faces were mysteries by now until one day…

Ricky leaned into the wind, feeling the salt air breeze across his skin. He sure was going to miss the Navy, he reflected, and the sense that he was doing all he could to keep the world safe, just like those superheroes in the comics. But Ricky knew it was time to move on, just as he'd known that he'd wanted to join the Navy in the first place when he was seventeen. It was like a little, nagging feeling, telling him to get up and go. Where, he wasn't exactly sure this time, but he knew whatever he was supposed to be doing was out there somewhere, waiting for him. It wasn't a hard decision, this time. Leaving felt natural, right, and this time around, he wasn't leaving someone behind.

And this, thought Ricky with a sigh as he turned around and headed back to his bunk, was where the rule of the ocean bent. He was a continent and an ocean away, but Ricky had never been able to forget Sissy. Even when he'd wanted to, more than anything. But unlike every other girl he'd ever met, she'd stayed in the back of his head, coming out every so often to remind him that he'd had something amazing, wonderful, perfect, even, and he didn't anymore. She was still so real to him that Ricky could picture her flaming red hair and green eyes and hear her voice talking to him, telling him exactly what she thought of him. Sometimes, he argued back. Sometimes he even wrote her letters.

He never sent them, of course. Ricky Goddard was a lot of things, but he wasn't stupid. Whatever he'd had with Sissy Hart was in the past, over and done with. He'd moved on—Leilani and a couple other flings were proof enough of that. Ricky barely even thought about Sissy anymore.

Sometimes, he did wonder how she was doing with those godawful parents and spitfire little sister of hers, though. Minnie never mentioned the Harts in her letters; Ricky supposed she didn't want to upset him. Not that it would have. He and Sissy were long over, and it wouldn't have bothered him in the slightest, seeing her name on the paper. In fact, it was almost _more_ odd, _not_ seeing it. Even if they had broken up in the end, they'd spent a good couple of years together, and even if Ricky didn't like to admit it, she'd been the best thing that had ever happened to him. In fact, sometimes he wondered if it'd really been the smart thing to do, breaking up. Of course he knew everything his dad said was true; it _wasn't_ a good idea to spend his service in the Navy thinking about some high school sweetheart, and it probably wasn't good for Sissy, either, waiting back here for him for who knew how long. So they'd agreed. They'd broken up. He'd been miserable, for awhile. But he was okay now, and he figured she had to be, too.

But sometimes it got lonely, on the ship, especially at night. That's when he wrote her the letters.

They weren't anything special. Mostly they just said what he did every day. Get up at the crack of dawn, shovel down breakfast, drill, lunch, drill, dinner, more drill, bed. That kind of thing. He told her about his buddies on the ship (Tom Ferry, Ben Jones, Jimmy Holbrook), and the pranks they got up to. _You'd like them_, he wrote once, _they're just like me, only not as handsome_. That was the kind of thing he always used to say to Sissy, because God knew she needed a few laughs back then. Ricky supposed she still did; but again, he didn't know.

He wrote her about Leilani, once, if only because he wanted Sissy to know. Even if he wasn't sure why. But he'd always been able to tell Sissy anything; that was why he'd liked her so much. Ricky wondered what she'd have said in return if he'd actually mailed the letter; he liked to think she'dve been happy for him, because Ricky would have been happy for her, if she'd found someone she really liked.

Sometimes he told her what he couldn't tell anyone else: that he was scared, that he occasionally had doubts that this was the right place for him. There wasn't a war on, sure, at least not officially, but no one actually knew what the Commies had up their sleeves, especially around the Pacific. This was real. He was here. And if something happened, well—he could die. And Ricky definitely wasn't ready for that. He still had too many things he wanted to do with his life. Ricky wanted to make a difference, a real difference, because that was what he'd always been taught: to make his mark, to never let anything come between him and his dreams. The question, though, was whether he already had…

And then sometimes, when it got cold and he was sitting up in his bunk unable to sleep, he wrote her letters where he told her he'd made a mistake, that he still loved her and always would. That if she'd wait for him, his service was almost up and he'd be home soon, and that everything would be just like it used to be. Wait. Please, he wrote, and it'll be like we never broke up at all. We can have each other again. Just the way it used to be.

When Ricky woke up in the morning, he was always glad he never mailed the letters. After all, he hadn't heard from Sissy in years, had no idea what she was up to or if she was seeing someone or even married with kids by now. A pretty girl like her definitely could, and most of the pretty girls Ricky knew (and there had been a lot) would have.

He'd always thought Sissy was different, though. She'd had dreams of her own, and that was probably why he'd liked her so much, and why, even after four years of life in the Navy, he still thought about her more than any other girl he had dated. Because that was the kicker: Ricky still thought about her. And now that he was coming home, Ricky had to wonder if he'd see her again.

Easing open the door to his quarters, Ricky glanced around to see the other men snoring away in their bunks. No one had missed him, not even Billy Corrigan, a notoriously—and dangerously—light sleeper. When the captain found his stamp collection on his desk in a few hours, no one would be able to say that Ricky had been out of bed that night. Not that it would have mattered. In a few days, Ricky would be back on dry land, out of the Navy and away from life in the military. Home free.

Yawning, Ricky quietly shut the door and crawled into his bunk. Then he reached into his shirt pocket and slipped out a worn square of paper.

He didn't even know why he'd brought it; normally, Ricky didn't buy into all that sentimental stuff about your girl's picture being lucky, and at that point, she hadn't even been his girl anymore. But for whatever reason, he'd never gotten rid of the photo, even while he'd been with other girls. It'd stayed with him, just like her face and her voice and her smile and every single memory that was still so clear to him had. Ricky stared at the photo. No, he hadn't forgotten Sissy Hart. And maybe he never would. But really, supposed Ricky as he stretched out on his bunk and tucked the picture into his front pocket, that was okay with him.

.

Christmas Eve, 1957

.

"Hey, handsome," came a playful, distinctly feminine voice off to the right.

Ricky looked up, his eyes widening as he took in the rough-looking neighborhood around him. He'd been so lost in thought he hadn't even noticed where he was going on his bid to reacquaint himself with West Side, but, judging by the run-down look of the tenements and the come-hither smile of the heavily made-up girl, he was now in the red-light district. It wasn't a problem for him—time spent with the Jets and a few years in the Navy tended to cure a guy of being scared in the wrong area of town—but Ricky took a careful glance around, just in case. He didn't exactly feel like being hustled, after all.

"Ya lost, honey?" asked the brunette coyly. "I could help ya out, if ya want…." She dangled the suggestion in the air, and for a second, Ricky was tempted to take her up on it.

Instead, though, he smiled back appreciatively—after all, he'd always been a sucker for a pretty face—but sheepishly ducked his head. "Sorry, I think ya got the wrong guy."

"Ya sure?" she teased, adjusting her skirt.

Ricky grinned back. "Yeah."

She gave him one last appraising smile before moving on. "Your loss, buddy."

Ricky looked around curiously again. Sure, he'd been to the red-light district once or twice on a dare during his year as a Jet, but he had no clue where he was at the moment. Over to his right was a rust-red door, probably a front for a sketchy bar or something. To his left, a dumpster with a man peeking forlornly out from inside. Ricky stared for a minute. The man responded by waving a banana.

Ricky raised an eyebrow, then decided to ignore him, scanning the snow-covered streets ahead. His gaze caught on a clump of people down a nearby alley, who seemed to be male and clustered around a much smaller figure.

Ricky frowned. What were they—?

"Stop!" cried the smaller figure—who was a girl, Ricky realized in an instant—furiously. She seemed to be trying to push them away, and Ricky's hackles instantly went up. It didn't take a genius to figure out that whatever they were doing to her, she definitely didn't like it. Scowling, he bounded over to the alley and shoved the biggest man away.

"Hey, back off!" the man snarled, trying to shake him off. Ricky took the opportunity to slug him one in the gut and grinned as the thug doubled over, gasping. Serves him right, he thought with satisfaction as he turned to the next one and slammed his fist into him. Ricky grinned as the idiot crumpled into a ball on the ground and focused on the last man, who had just knocked the girl to the ground.

"I'd go now," he advised cheerfully. "I just got outta the Navy, an' they taught me a thing or two about hurtin' people I don't like. An', see, I don't think I like _you_."

The last man didn't need any urging; he immediately took off running, followed by his two wheezing companions.

"Geez. Those assholes," Ricky muttered in disgust, hands on his hips as he watched them go. "Workin' over a _girl_." He turned around to see the girl brushing her short red hair out of her face and bent over, holding his hand out. "Hey, are you—"

Ricky sucked his breath in. It _couldn't_ be.

"_Sissy_?" he gaped, taking in her pale, heart-shaped face with amazement. His first thought: _when'd she get so skinny_? "What're—what're ya doin' _here_?"

The redhead's green eyes widened, and for a second, Ricky thought she was going to turn around and run away. But she didn't.

"Ricky?" she breathed.

He smiled—he couldn't help it. "Yeah. It's me," he answered wonderingly. He waggled his hand a little. "C'mon, lemme help ya up."

Sissy glanced at his hand and, after a pause, took it. Ricky pulled her slight body up and just stared at her. "Man, it's—it's been ages."

Sissy gave him a smile that, while familiar, looked completely different from the grin he was used to seeing. "Yeah. It has, hasn't it?"

"_Wow_," Ricky couldn't help saying, still amazed at the sheer coincidence of it all. "I just got back—today, an'—_wow_."

Sissy shrugged. "Yeah."

"But—hey, look, this ain't no place for you," said Ricky, suddenly remembering they were in the middle of the red-light district and that there were other, worse characters around than the guys he'd scared off. He took her elbow. "Let's get ya outta here."

The corners of Sissy's mouth quirked up a little, as if she was amused. She shrugged. "Sure. Where d'ya wanna go?"

Ricky grinned. "Lemme buy ya a hot chocolate at the Coffee Pot?"

Sissy shrugged. "Sure." Then her face fell. "Wait, I can't. I—gotta work."

"On Christmas Eve?" Ricky asked incredulously. "What kinda job makes ya work on Christmas Eve?"

Sissy shrugged again and seemed to be avoiding his gaze. "Just a job, that's all. Brings in the money. Look, I gotta go, okay?" She made as if to leave, but Ricky impulsively reached for her shoulder.

"Hey, forget about tonight, but—d'ya wanna come over for dinner tomorrow?"

Sissy blinked and looked him straight in the eyes. Hers, he noticed with a strange jolt, were just as green as ever. Even if the rest of her seemed different, at least this was still the same. "Christmas dinner?"

Ricky nodded eagerly. "Yeah. You can bring Annie, too," he added helpfully.

Sissy smiled a little. "Gee, it's been so long since I heard anyone call her that…"

"Yeah? So whaddaya say?" Ricky asked eagerly. "Y'know my folks'd sure be glad to see ya."

Sissy's gaze dropped. "I don' know about that," she said quietly.

Ricky shook his head. "They always liked ya, Sissy, you know that," he reassured her. "It was just—well, you know."

Sissy nodded, an unreadable expression on her face. "Yeah. I guess I do."

"So whaddaya say, then?" asked Ricky, a bit more subdued now. "Even if you ain't sure about my dad, well…you know my ma an' Minnie'd love it if ya came."

Sissy glanced up at him, but didn't say anything.

"An', well…I'd like to have ya there, too," he added quietly, kicking the snow at his feet.

Sissy didn't say anything for a minute, and Ricky bit his lip. "But I guess if ya—"

"What time?"

Ricky grinned, and Sissy rolled her eyes at him. "Dinner's at six. I'll pick ya up—still at the old—"

Sissy shook her head vigorously, her short red hair flying. "Nah, we—moved. I'll just be there at six, okay?"

Ricky frowned. "But—"

"Look, I really gotta get goin', or I'm gonna be late," Sissy cut in apologetically. She hesitated, then leaned in to give him a quick hug. "It was nice seein' ya, Ricky," she whispered, "I'll be there tomorrow."

And with that, she took off so rapidly down the street that within five seconds she was gone.

Ricky stared open-mouthed after her. What in the name of—

Shaking his head, Ricky began to move off in the direction of home. Barely six hours back in New York, and he'd already seen her. After three years of nothing—Sissy, right there, in the flesh. Ricky frowned. There definitely hadn't been much of that…she was too skinny, he thought. And she looked like she hadn't slept in days. What the hell was going on?

Well, thought Ricky, he definitely had a lot of questions he wanted to ask her at dinner tomorrow. And this time, she wasn't going to get away so easily.

.

Christmas, 1957

.

_Ding-dong_.

"I'll get it!" chirped Minnie happily, setting down a bowl of mashed potatoes and skipping to the door. Ricky grinned fondly at her as he followed, forcing himself to keep his pace at a steady stroll. He was suddenly glad his father wasn't back from a last-minute patrol yet.

"Hi, Sissy!" beamed Minnie, and Ricky felt a jolt. It _was_ her. "Oh, it's so _nice_ to see you after so long! Please come in and make yourself at home! Can I take your coat? Are you thirsty? Would you like a glass of water?"

Sissy, Ricky was happy to see as he sauntered into the hall, was still as amused by his sister as ever. "Hey, Minnie," he teased, "maybe if you'd let her get a word in edgewise, she'd tell ya."

Minnie blushed pink, but didn't seem to mind. "Oh, I'm sorry, Sissy," she giggled. "I'm just so happy you're here, that's all."

Sissy glanced from sister to brother and smiled faintly. "Me, too."

Ricky couldn't seem to keep the smile from his face. "So where's Annie?"

Sissy shrugged. "She said somethin' about how maybe your dad wouldn' be too happy to see her…I thought I'd better not ask. Can't tell what I don't know, see."

Ricky grinned. "You always were smart."

"Speakin'-a whom," added Sissy in a carefully casual voice, "where _is_ your dad?"

Ricky matched her tone. "Still out doin' the rounds, but he said he'd be back soon," he offered. "But my ma's—"

"Hellooo, Sissy dear," sang out Mrs. Goddard, sailing in from the kitchen. She was wrapped in a voluminous apron and holding a wooden spoon in one hand, with a whisk in the other. "It's been _such_ a long time, I'm _so_ glad you're here, and—" She blinked. "Oh, my dear, you're so _skinny_."

Ricky shot an apologetic look at Sissy, who was blushing. "Hello, Mrs. Goddard," she managed.

Mrs. Goddard appeared positively alarmed. "But, my dear! Come into the kitchen, I _must_ feed you something!"

Minnie giggled. "We've been cooking all day, and Mother needs a new taste-tester," she explained obligingly as Mrs. Goddard towed a bemused Sissy toward the kitchen. "We're all tasted out."

"Not me!" protested Ricky, tagging along after. "I'm _always_ up for taste-testing!"

Minnie beamed. "Oh, I know. But you always like everything!"

"That's because you and Mom are great cooks," Ricky said reasonably. Both Mrs. Goddard and Minnie beamed; Sissy, on the other hand, turned around and gave him a wry look. Ricky's eyes widened—the beat his heart had just skipped was all too familiar.

So it was still there, he thought, amazed. It hadn't gone away, whatever it was that had once existed betweent the two of them. He still cared about her. And she, thought Ricky, eyes settling on Sissy's back, apparently still cared about him. She'd shown up, after all…

Ricky made a snap decision. Speeding up, he caught Sissy's hand. "Hang on."

Sissy glanced back at their joined hands, then at him, startled. "Ricky?"

Mrs. Goddard and Minnie also turned around, identical confused expressions on their wide-eyed faces. "Ricky?"

Ricky grinned sheepishly. "Give us a minute, would ya?"

Mrs. Goddard and Minnie's mouths formed perfect O's as they shared deeply significant glances. Then, as one, they scurried frantically back into the kitchen. "We'll be in here when you're done!" trilled Mrs. Goddard over her shoulder as they vanished through the door with a rustling of crinolines.

Ricky couldn't help but chuckle.

Sissy eyed him, her lips twitching. "So. What's up?"

"Just wanted to talk to ya," Ricky shrugged, facing her completely.

Sissy raised an eyebrow. "Hi."

Ricky laughed and shook his head. "Hi. What I mean is, how are ya?"

Sissy shrugged. "Could be better, could be worse, I guess."

Ricky half-smiled, but kept his eyes fixed keenly on hers until she looked away. "You know what I mean. Somethin's up, I know it."

"I'm fine," Sissy answered glibly. She tilted her head. "Don't I look fine?"

"You're different," Ricky said simply.

Sissy quirked up her mouth. "Really."

"Yeah," said Ricky seriously. He took a step forward and closed his other hand over hers. "I can't really say how or why, but…there's a lot you ain't tellin' me, right?"

Sissy stood looking up at him for what seemed like ages without speaking, just gazing into his eyes, her face searching his for something—Ricky had no idea what.

"Look, it's me," he said softly. "I know we ain't close anymore, but—we were. An' y'know you can tell me anythin', right?"

Sissy took a deep breath and opened her mouth. "Ricky, I—"

"Hope I'm not interruptin' anythin'," boomed a deep voice. Ricky mentally cursed as he turned, his hands automatically dropping Sissy's, to see his father at the door.

"No," he said awkwardly, glancing at Sissy, "no, you're not." It was more of a question than an answer.

"Well, Sissy, I haven't seen you in years," Officer Goddard said genially. "How're ya doin'?"

Sissy's face seemed to have closed over. "Fine," she said vaguely. "I'm fine." She glanced at Ricky. "But—I'm sorry, I forgot. There's something I have to do, so—I'd better go."

Ricky stared at her. There she was, ducking out again. She was definitely hiding something. Well, he thought determinedly, he wasn't about to let it go this time.

"Lemme walk ya home," he told her.

Sissy shook her head quickly. "I can manage."

"No," he insisted, "not right now. I ain't lettin' ya go alone."

Officer Goddard cleared his throat. "No one out there on the streets," he said to no one in particular, eyes on the ceiling. "Somethin' were to happen, could be awhile 'til ya got help…"

Ricky nodded vigorously. "See?" he asked, shooting his father a deeply surprised, grateful look. "I'm takin' ya home."

Sissy shot him an unreadable look, then finally heaved a sigh and nodded. "Okay. Thanks for having me, Officer Goddard," she added carefully, obviously puzzled. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Sissy," Ricky's father returned, and Ricky, if he hadn't known better, would have thought his father winked at him as he slipped into the kitchen.

.

Ricky was so absorbed in talking to a not-talking Sissy and trying to get her to open up about whatever it was that was bothering her that he didn't realize until they had stopped that they were in the red-light district again. He glanced around, brow furrowed. "Sissy…?"

She smiled a little, kicking snow with her feet. "This's me."

Ricky looked at the familiar rust-red, scuffed old tenement building and took a moment to absorb this, his heart sinking. "You live here?"

"Things've changed, Ricky," she sighed. Sissy was quiet for a minute. "A lot happened after you left."

"So tell me," Ricky urged sincerely again. "You know you can tell me anythin'."

"It's a long story," Sissy admitted. Her green eyes looked so tired. "An' none of it's too pretty. Ya won't like it."

Ricky shrugged, gazing at her. She was so different—older, sadder, and so much lonelier than the Sissy he'd known. But that was the thing: she was still _Sissy_. And that was all that had ever mattered to him.

"Even if I don't, I won't care," he said simply. "I'll still listen. An' no matter what it is, ya won't look any different to me after, I can tell ya that."

Sissy hesitated. "Promise?" she finally asked, in such a quiet, unsure voice that something somewhere in the area of his chest began to ache.

"Yeah," Ricky said softly, holding out his hand. "I do."

Sissy stood still for a long moment, just looking at him. "Well," she said at last, taking his hand, "come on up, an' I'll tell ya."

As Ricky followed her out of the cold white world outside, through the cracked glass door, and into the yellow-lit lobby of the building, he matched her tentative smile. This was strange for both of them—this carefully finding their way back, rebuilding old ties. It was a new direction for both of them, and Ricky wasn't sure where it was going to lead. But somehow, he didn't think he was going to mind finding out. One thing was for sure, Ricky thought determinedly, as he watched the dim yellow light of the fading electric bulbs turn Sissy's hair to fiery gold. He wasn't going to let her go again.

.

.end.

* * *

Note the Second: Apologies for any and all errors about the US Navy except one: I took the liberty of naming Ricky's ship _Manhattan_ for obvious reasons, though there have been several real ships with that name. Again, feel free to ask away. :)

Music: Josh Groban's single of the title song, as well as "Merry Christmas Tonight" by Drew Holcomb and the Neighbors, which is basically the counterpart song. It's really sad and lovely; give it a listen. :)

Hint: My favorite couple in the history of ever. That enough for you? :)

love, viennacantabile


	8. eight: baby, it's cold outside

Disclaimer: Still don't own, boo.

Note: ...um. So yeah, it's been just under a month since I last updated, and I am very, very sorry. All I can say is that I feel spectacularly un-Christmasy and have been very busy with school and four new fics, but other than that, I have nothing, sigh. But thanks for your patience, it's much appreciated. :) As always, any dates mentioned are based on the movie occurring in June of 1957. Finally, before you read this, I would ask that you watch my preferred version of this song here:

http://vodpod. com/watch/2701999-drew-holcomb-and-the-neighbors-official-music-video-baby-its-cold-outside

Don't forget to take out the space in the address. :) Anyway, it's ridiculously adorable (the singers are married), and I would not have been able to write this without it.

For: **HedgehogQuill**, **SheWhoDreamsByDarknes****s-x**, **xXc0okieSsNcrEamXx**, and **Megfly**, as always, with love. :)

—viennacantabile

* * *

merry christmas with love

eight : baby, it's cold outside

…_in which Ice turns faintly blue._

.

I wish I knew how  
—Your eyes are like starlight now  
To break this spell  
—Well, I'll take your hat, your hair looks swell  
I ought to say no, no, no, sir!  
—Well, mind if I move in closer?  
At least I'm gonna say that I tried  
—What's the sense in hurtin' my pride?  
I really can't stay  
—Baby, don't hold out

Oh, but it's cold outside  
Baby, it's cold outside  
Baby, it's cold out  
It's really cold out  
Baby, it's cold outside

.

Two weeks before Christmas, 1956

.

"So, whatcha doin' for Christmas this year, buddy-boy?" asked Riff conversationally, draping his arm around his third-in-command. "Got any special plans for your girl?"

Ice blinked. The other Jets had just left Doc's Candy Store to go make some mischief for Krupke and Schrank, but he and Riff had stayed, and were lounging in the back. "Nah, just gettin' together an' givin' her her present, is all."

Riff let out a low whistle and shook his head. "Man. Well. I guess it's your neck, kid."

Ice frowned, instantly on edge. "What?"

Riff shrugged innocently. "Nothin'. I mean…well."

Ice gave him a wary look. "What, Riff?"

"It's prob'ly nothin'," Riff allowed, tipping his chair back to balance precariously. "Maybe I shouldna even said anythin'."

Ice eyed him suspiciously. "Okay."

Five minutes passed, in which Ice observed out of the corner of his eye as Riff yawned, stretched, sighed, fidgeted, scratched his head, cast meaningful looks in his direction, and generally behaved like a five year-old with a Very Important Secret. Finally, Ice couldn't stand it anymore.

"_What_?" he demanded. "Just tell me!"

Riff's chair came back down to the floor with a crash. "It's like this," he explained very seriously, leaning forward. "Girls get kinda crazy about certain occasionalities that no one in their right mind can remember like birthdays, an' anniversaries, an' holidays. Me," he said with a snort, "I think it's all some plot to get as many presents as they can outta us poor saps. But we gotta go along with it, 'else there's hell to pay, an' who wants to deal with that?"

An unsettled Ice nodded. He hadn't _thought_ Velma was like that, but he figured that Riff, who'd had about a million girlfriends, had to know more about them than he did. "Right."

"So listen," Riff went on, "this is you an' Velma's first Christmas together, right? An' ya really like this dame; least, I can't ever remember ya talkin' to any girl before her, so I figure ya gotta. Well, anyway, she's gonna be expectin' some big to-do over it bein' Christmas an' you an' her bein' together, an' it bein' _so_ _romantic_, an'—" Riff shook his head and gave another whistle. "All I'm sayin', Ice, is if you go in there with just some dinky little present? You're gonna be outta there quicker'n Mouthpiece was outta tenth grade."

Ice didn't even hear this last part. He'd never quite thought about it before, but Riff actually had a _point_. He stared at his friend, unsettled. "Damn. Well, what do I do?" He paused. The Jet lieutenant had a girl who was a damn sight more demanding than Velma was, Ice thought uneasily, so if anyone knew how to handle this, it had to be him. "What're _you_ doin'?"

Riff smirked. "Well, yeah, I got somethin' up my sleeve, but if I toldja, who's to know ya wouldn't lift my idea? Nah, you're on your own, buddy-boy." He clapped Ice on the shoulder and sprang up. "Now, uh, if you'll excuse me, I gots business around other parts-a town today." He winked. "See ya around, Ice."

Ice watched him saunter out onto the street, his mind a million miles away. Riff had just thrown a very big wrench into his thought processes. Ice hadn't even thought much about the fact that Christmas was in just two weeks. Sure, he was working on a present, but as Riff had just said: what was some dinky little present? Velma had spent last Christmas on East Side, he knew, and whatever idiot, goody two-shoes, Richie-Rich boyfriend she'd had then had probably gone all out to give her Christmas with all the bells and whistles on. Whereas Ice, on the other hand, had just been doing the odd job for Doc behind the other Jets' backs to save up enough money to get her a present. He scowled. One stupid present. Riff, he thought with some relief, had said something just in time. Velma was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and he had to make sure she didn't send him packing for some dumb amateur mistake like the one he'd been about to make.

But to make Christmas something really special…

Ice frowned. The only thing was, he'd never had a girlfriend before, so he wasn't exactly on familiar territory when it came to doing something like that. He'd been lucky that Velma had had her birthday just before she'd moved to West Side, so he hadn't had to deal with that yet. And he thought he'd basically been okay with all the other stuff he'd seen the other Jets doing with their girlfriends, like walking them home, taking them out, all of that. In any case, Velma hadn't seemed like she thought he was doing anything wrong. In fact, Ice would've said they were doing better than ever, especially considering he'd taken her to meet his mother just a few weeks ago and she hadn't bolted, like he'd been afraid she would. No, Velma had actually made it very clear that she didn't care about that, Ice thought, still a little amazed. Which was why he definitely didn't want to screw things up right after she'd just reminded him why he was so gone on her.

So, with that in mind, Ice set about gathering advice from the readiest sources available. Which, in this case, might not have been the best idea…

.

"Ya wanna be complimentin' her a lot," said Big Deal knowingly, busily working on his gum. "An' they go crazy over pickup lines, y'know. Or lines from songs. They think it's real romantic." He grinned hugely. "Trust me on this."

Ice raised a doubtful eyebrow at him. Out of all the girls, he would've said Clarice was the most like Velma, but he had a hard time believing any girl would go for something that was really kind of cheesy. Still, though, he figured Big Deal had to know. "Sure."

.

"Mistletoe," said Snowboy very sagely. "Yup. Ain't nothin' like mistletoe to warm up a dame's cold, cold heart."

Ice stiffened. "She ain't—"

"Lollipops," advised Joyboy unexpectedly. "Or sweet things. But mostly lollipops. No black cherry." Then he returned to nursing the lollipop that was in his own mouth.

Ice frowned. "But—"

"Alas, for our poor young lad," Snowboy went on mournfully. "Huddled freezin' an all alone on the mountain of his girl's affections—"

"Forget it," Ice cut in, his ears red. "Mistletoe. Lollipops. Got it."

"An' if that don't melt her—"

"_Snowboy_. _Shut up_."

.

"Who the fuck cares?" snorted Action, throwing darts at the board. "Just give her the present, bang her brains out, an' be done with it."

Action, Ice discovered then, made an _excellent_ dartboard.

.

"The park?" volunteered Tiger.

Ice shook his head. "No."

"The river?"

"No."

"Under the—"

"Jesus, Tiger, ya sound like you're pickin' out places to rumble," Ice said disgustedly.

There was a silence, in which Tiger scratched his head sheepishly. Then:

"The zoo?"

Ice groaned. "_No_."

.

"Write her a love song an' sing it under her fire escape," suggested Gee-Tar.

Ice wrinkled his nose. "Love song?"

"Yeah. Like this," Gee-Tar nodded, picking up his guitar and strumming a few chords. Clearing his throat, he launched into a horrendously off-key warble: "Christmas wouldn' be Christmas if I didn' have your sweet face, Clarice, oh, I think you're just fine, I wanna give you tinsel an' snow, just take my ornaments an'…anyway, you get the picture," he ended awkwardly.

Ice stared. "Yeah. I do." Poor Clarice, he thought. Whatever else he ended up doing, that was one piece of advice he_wouldn't_ be taking.

.

Baby John shrugged helplessly. "Well, gee, I don' know, Ice," he admitted awkwardly. "I mean, she's a _girl_, so—somethin' girly?" He paused, then brightened. "You could make cookies with her!"

Ice sighed. He should have known better than to ask. Unlike every other Jet, Baby John actually _meant_ making cookies when he said it. And while Ice was all for cookies, literally _making cookies_ was no fun at all.

.

"What, girls?" snorted A-Rab, slamming his hands into the pinball machine with particular force. "Too much trouble just for the one thing. Don't want 'em, don't need 'em."

"Couldn't get 'em if ya did," cracked Anybodys, who was leaning on the nearby pole.

A-Rab glared at her. "Just 'cause I don't go for he-shes don't mean I can't get _real_ girls."

Anybodys launched herself around the pole and began flailing at him. Ice groaned. Those two, he thought balefully, had far too much fun whaling on each other. "Never mind," he said to A-Rab, who wasn't even listening anymore, anyway.

.

"I bet she'd _love_ ridin' a train with a buddy all day," Mouthpiece said eagerly, wide face stretching into his trademark grin. "An' I know just the—"

Ice glared. "_No_."

.

The only really useful piece of advice came from Tony.

"That's a doozy, Ice," the Jet leader said thoughtfully. "I ain't never had a serious girl, see." He paused. "But if I did, I'd wanna make her feel like she was the best thing in the whole universe. The only one for me."

Ice nodded glumly. Tony had it right, but… "Yeah. See, that's the problem. I do. 'Cause she is. An' I don't know how."

Tony shrugged. "I guess all you can do is think about what _she_ wants, y'know? An' go with that. 'Cause you could pull off the greatest tricks in the world but if she don't like it, you're still just as sunk."

Ice absorbed this. Tony had a point. "Makes sense, I guess…"

Tony clapped a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "Well, good luck to ya, buddy boy."

"Thanks," Ice sighed. "I'll need it."

.

Well, thought Ice determinedly after a week had gone by and he was still no closer to a solution, the Jets were no help. He'd thought about asking the girls for advice, but he wasn't sure he trusted them not to tell Velma, and in any case, Ice had never been good at talking to any girl except _his_ girl. Which meant that Ice, third-in-command and unlikely romantic of the Jets, was going to have to figure this one out all by himself.

Ice sighed. This, he thought morosely, ought to be good.

.

Christmas Eve, 1956

.

There was nothing, Velma thought idly, staring out her window, that she liked in winter better than snow, and especially snow on Christmas. Unfortunately, though, it was starting to look like New York wouldn't be getting a white Christmas—the streets were bare and wet, and even though the weather forecast had predicted a slight chance of snow that night, Velma wasn't getting her hopes up.

"Vel—Vel, are ya listenin'?" crackled the phone.

Velma tore her eyes away from the alley outside and sighed again. "Yeah, Graz, I'm listenin'." Then she paused sheepishly. "What'd ya say again?"

"I said, ya gotta help me out!" Graziella half-shrieked. "Y'know how I was gonna give Riff that picture-a me? Well, he guessed it, an' now I gotta think-a somethin' else!"

Velma winced. She'd tried to talk her best friend out of the picture idea when Graziella had decided upon it, but it hadn't worked. "Gee, I don' know, Graz," she admitted. She glanced outside at the darkened sky again. "All the stores'd be closed by now."

"I know!" wailed the phone. "Whadda I _do_, Vel? Whaddaya _get_ for boys, anyhow?"

Velma paused. "Well, I used to just bake for 'em. Y'know, cake, an' stuff like that."

"But I can't bake nothin' 'cept gingersnaps, an' the last time I tried that, Riff took one bite an' said he was allergic!" protested Graziella. "Look, forget other guys, what're ya gettin' for _Ice_?"

"Well," said Velma carefully, "I did bake him a cake—but I got him a scarf an' gloves, too, so he don't freeze. He don't have any." She frowned. "Though I don't guess he'll need it, seein' as there ain't no _snow_."

"That sure is romantic," said Graziella, her voice rising, "but that ain't gonna work for Riff; he's already got 'em!"

Velma blinked. "Don't worry," she said comfortingly. "You'll think-a somethin', I know ya will."

"Thanks," sighed Graziella. After a few seconds, she laughed darkly. "Watch me think-a the perfect present, an' him not even remember!"

"_Don't worry_," Velma patiently reassured her friend again. "He'll remember. Y'know, I bet he's thinkin' about ya right now."

Velma could practically hear her friend smile. "Really?"

Velma nodded, even though Graziella couldn't see her. "Yeah."

Graziella was quiet for a moment. "I really do love him, y'know."

"I know," said Velma softly. "An'—he loves ya too, I know he does."

"I hope so," sighed Graziella. "Look, I know you're spendin' all day with Ice tomorrow, so—'f I don't see ya, Merry Christmas, okay?"

Velma smiled. "Merry Christmas, Graz." Hanging up the phone, she lay back on her bed and hugged her pillow. Well, she thought, even if it _wasn't_ a white Christmas, at least she was going to be spending it with Ice. Velma was lucky that he wasn't the kind of guy she had to worry about forgetting things like that. That was something, at least.

.

But on Christmas morning, Velma opened her eyes to see that a a truly enormous amount of snow had been dumped on New York City.

Velma leapt out of bed and stared, openmouthed. She didn't even have to go to her window to glimpse the brilliant white streets outside. Then she raced to her closet to get dressed. She had to see Ice.

.

When a very happy Velma rushed into Ice's room, it was to find her miserable boyfriend huddled up in six layers of blankets, clutching a hot-water bottle, and looking very much like an Eskimo.

"Hi, honey!" she greeted excitedly, setting her purse, a white bag, and coat down and coming to sit next to him on his bed. "Did ya look outside?"

"Yep," grunted Ice, casting a baleful glance at her with red-rimmed eyes.

"It _snowed_!" Velma informed him, snuggling happily into him.

"I hate snow," grumbled Ice from deep within his cocoon. "An' you're cold."

Velma giggled. "So warm me up. Oh, c'mon, honey," she cajoled winningly. "It ain't so bad."

"It's cold," insisted Ice stubbornly. And then he sniffled.

Velma wrinkled her forehead and took a closer look at her boyfriend. "Ice, are you—"

She was interrupted by a sneeze that rattled the windowpane.

"Oh, honey," sighed Velma sympathetically, reaching up to feel his forehead. It was definitely warm. "You're _sick_, aren't ya?"

"No, I ain't," objected Ice stuffily, dodging her hand. Then he sniffed again. "C'mon, let's go out."

Velma shook her head. "You're sick, an' you're stayin' in bed."

"Nope," Ice insisted obstinately, beginning to get up. "It's Christmas. We got places to go, Vee."

"_No_," Velma said firmly, putting her hands on his shoulders and sitting him back down. He _had_ to be sick, she noted with some surprise. She never would have been able to do that normally. "What's got into ya? Ya said yourself, ya don't even like the cold. Why d'ya wanna go _out_?"

Ice avoided her eyes, looking very much like a pouting child. "'Cause." Then he sneezed.

Velma rolled her eyes. _Men_. "Well, ya ain't goin' out there an' makin' yourself worse." He offered little resistance as she pushed him back to lie on the bed. "You're gonna stay right here, okay?"

Ice huffed and stared up at the ceiling with another sniff.

"Right?" Velma repeated sternly.

"Oh, fine," he grumbled thickly, resettling his blankets around him. "But only if ya stay with me."

Velma giggled. "Look at all the snow," she reminded him, gesturing at the window and the glittering, silent city outside. "Where else could I go?"

.

By afternoon, Velma had tidied up the room, helped Mrs. Kelly make chicken soup, and fed it to a very morose Ice. Though he didn't seem quite as near death's doorstep as he had before, he was still laid pretty low.

"Thanks," Ice mumbled after gulping down his eighth glass of water.

Velma smiled as she rubbed his back comfortingly. "It's nothin'. What a day to get sick, huh? What happened? Ya looked fine yesterday."

Ice shrugged noncommittally. "Don' know."

Velma arched an eyebrow. Ice was notorious for his poker face, but he'd never been able to lie. Especially not to her. "Really."

"Really," Ice nodded emphatically. The effect was punctuated by another sneeze. Then he brightened. "But—Vee, I ain't even given ya your present, yet!"

Velma blinked as Ice dived back to rummage behind his bed. "Oh, right."

"Here," he said as he emerged, suddenly shy. He thrust a small blue box at her. "Merry Christmas."

Velma smirked as she took the gift from him. "This ain't a ring, is it?"

Ice turned faintly pale. "Well—not unless ya—did ya _want_ one?"

"Down, boy," giggled Velma. "I'm just teasin'." She got up and retrieved the white bag from beside her purse. "I almost forgot, too. I brought ya cake, too, it's in the kitchen, but here ya go. You open first."

"Ladies first," sniffled Ice.

Velma laughed and handed him a tissue. "This one might actually come in handy right about now, silly. Go on, open it."

Ice sighed. "If ya say so." He gingerly undid the silver ribbon that tied the handles together and took out a shape wrapped in tissue paper. "What is it?"

Velma shrugged. "Open it an' see."

Ice unwrapped the paper to reveal black gloves and a black and gray-patterned scarf. "You're right," he said with a chuckle, followed by another sneeze. "I could use these. _Thanks_, Vee."

Velma smiled. "Maybe they'll help ya keep from catchin' cold again," she teased.

"Hope so," Ice said with a sigh as Velma picked the scarf up and wound it around his neck. "Now you."

When Velma opened Ice's gift, she actually gasped. Inside was a small, sparkling silver snowflake on a matching chain. "Oh, honey," she said sincerely, "it's _beautiful_."

Ice visibly relaxed. "Ya like it?"

Velma smiled. "I love it. Put it on for me?"

Ice nodded, picking the necklace up and fumbling with the chain as she moved her hair from her neck. Once it was on, she turned to face him expectantly again.

"It looks great, Vee," he said quietly. "Just like I knew it would."

Velma dimpled and leaned in to kiss him. But Ice stopped her with a grimace. "I can't believe I'm sayin' this," he said regretfully, "an' I hope I never have to again, but don't. You'll get sick."

Velma sat back with a groan. "You'd better get well _soon_."

.

By evening, Ice had made it very clear that he was feeling much better. He'd sneezed just eight times since dinner, and had only sniffled every five minutes or so. They'd been alternately talking and cuddling for the last hour when Velma finally decided to put her foot down.

"Honey," she said very seriously, struggling away, "I really need to get home."

Ice paid her no attention, instead pulling her back into his lap. Though he kept refusing to kiss her, he had absolutely no reservations about anything else. "What's the hurry?"

Velma couldn't help but smile. "Ice, I know you're feelin' better, an' all, but ya still gotta rest."

Ice put on his most innocent look. "Don' know what you're talkin' about. It was just a twelve-hour bug, I swear. I feel _great_."

Velma very deliberately leaned forward. And Ice clapped his hand over his mouth and jerked back.

"I guess not _that_ great," he allowed grumpily with another sniff. "It ain't like I don't _wanna_."

"Right," Velma said firmly, "which is why I gotta go so you can get better an' we _can_ again."

Ice ignored this. "Baby," he said, very seriously, "it's cold outside."

Velma couldn't resist a giggle. "Ice, honey, that don't work in the song, and it ain't gonna work on me."

Ice gave a comical sigh that was somewhat undermined by a sneeze. "But it _is_," he protested, keeping hold of her hand. "An' it's all nice an' warm in here. Why would ya wanna go out there?"

Velma glanced at the window and sighed. It _did_ look pretty cold outside, and it was definitely snowing again.

Ice, clearly sensing her resolve weakening, pressed his advantage. "C'mon, Vee," he murmured, touching his lips to her shoulder, "you'd freeze out there."

Velma smiled in spite of herself at the line, but held firm. "I _really_ gotta go home, Ice, I swear."

Ice huffed. "Well, fine," he grumbled. "But I'm comin' with ya."

Velma blinked. "You are?"

"Well, yeah," nodded Ice, blowing his streaming nose. "Ya didn't think I was gonna let ya walk all the way back alone, did ya?"

Velma frowned. "But you're still sick," she pointed out.

Ice shrugged. "Look, either I walk ya home, or ya stay here," he announced. "I ain't lettin' ya go out there all by yourself in the dark." He grinned. "I mean, personally, I'd rather ya stayed here, but that's just me."

Velma rolled her eyes. "Oh, fine," she sighed unwillingly. "But make sure you keep warm. I don't want _you_ to freeze."

Ice stifled a very small sneeze and shrugged innocently. "Anythin' ya say, Doctor."

.

When they reached her apartment, Velma's mouth dropped open. "Ice—ya _didn't_—"

It was like a fairyland. The fire escape outside of her window was covered in small white Christmas tree lights. Strands of them had been delicately looped and twisted through the railings and ironwork to create a a path of softly glowing light reflecting off the snow and leading from the ground to the landing outside her window. To top it all off, there was even a tiny Christmas tree underneath her window, half-buried under the snow.

Ice shrugged sheepishly. "Merry Christmas?"

"I didn't know you could do that," breathed Velma, awed. She'd never seen Christmas tree lights not on a Christmas tree before. "_When_ did ya do it, honey?"

Ice ducked his head. "Last night. I figured if you could put 'em on trees, you could put 'em outside, too."

Velma, ignoring this last part, glanced quickly at him, putting two and two together. "Last night, when it was_snowing_?" she asked, horrified.

Ice kept his gaze firmly away from her. "Maybe?" As if to distract her, he added, "I was gonna put fake snow there, too, if it didn't snow, but, well…" He gestured around at the snow-covered alley. "You know."

Velma sighed. "Ice, honey, y'know I love it, but that don't mean ya shoulda made yourself sick for me."

Ice shrugged uncomfortably.

Glancing up at him, Velma put her arms around her boyfriend and squeezed. "Ya didn't need to do this," she said quietly. "But it's beautiful, an' I love it. I really do. Thanks." She touched her lips to his cheek and smiled. "Now let's go up before we freeze."

As they began the ascent, Velma marveled at how pretty the lights were, haloed against the snow. "Ya really outdid yourself, honey," she remarked as they reached the landing outside her window. "I don't know how ya—"

Velma stopped, blinking. Hanging right above her window was—

"Oh," Ice said in a very bad attempt at surprise. "Look. Mistletoe."

Velma's lips twitched. He really _had_ gone all out. "Uh-huh."

Ice sniffled a little too convincingly. "Look, I wasn't countin' on me bein' sick, so I still don't think ya'd better—"

Velma rolled her eyes. She'd held back all day, but at this point, she just didn't care anymore. "Oh, so when it comes to kissin' me, you're sick? I get it."

"I just don't want ya to catch anythin' I _might_ have," protested Ice. "I—"

Velma, ignoring him, reached up and pulled his head down so that their lips met. "Merry Christmas," she whispered.

Ice resisted at first, but finally gave in and tentatively kissed her back. "You'll get sick," he warned ruefully after she let go of him.

Velma laughed. "Then you'll just have to take care-a me, won't ya?" she teased.

Ice winced. "Yeah, about that—look, Vee, I'm real sorry this happened," he said in a rush. "I know it ain't exactly the most fun thing to do, takin' care-a me, an'—"

Velma put her finger on his mouth and smiled at him. "Ice, honey," she murmured. "Shh. It's been the best Christmas ever."

Ice goggled. "But—we didn't even _do_ anythin', 'cept stay in my room! An' not in the fun way, neither," he added with a regretful sigh. "This wasn't how it was supposed to be, that's for sure."

"Well, yeah," Velma shrugged, looking curiously at him, "but really, honey, I don't care _what_ we do, long's I'm with you."

Ice stared at her for a full minute, then muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "kill Riff" as he yanked her window open with unnecessary force.

Velma eyed him. "Why, _were_ we gonna do somethin'?"

Ice sighed. "I had this whole day planned out," he admitted reluctantly. "We were gonna go do all the stuff ya like; ice skatin' an' alla that. An' I was gonna make ya a real nice dinner, but…" He shrugged glumly. "Didn't happen, obviously."

Velma stared at him, touched. "Oh, honey, ya don't even _like_ ice skatin'. _Or_ cookin'. 'S matter-a fact—" she glanced around pointedly— "ya don't even like _snow_."

Ice shrugged matter-of-factly. "Well, no. But you do."

It was the way he said it that got to her. "Oh, Ice," she murmured, wrapping her arms around him. "I love you, y'know that?"

She felt his gloved hand settle over her hair as he pressed a kiss to her temple. "Yeah. I love you, too."

They stayed like that for a few minutes before Velma finally pulled back and gazed up at him with a sigh. "It's gettin' late," she said reluctantly, "an' like it or not, you're still sick, an' you should be in bed."

"Bed, yeah," agreed Ice vaguely as he helped her inside. He was very determinedly not staring at her window.

Velma's lips twitched. "Oh, fine," she sighed, shaking her head amusedly, "you can come in."

Ice's grin switched on immediately. "Good," he chuckled, "'cause baby, it sure is cold outside."

Velma stared. "Honey. You can stop now."

Ice shrugged, the tips of his ears turning red. "Big Deal said girls like that kinda stuff."

Velma furrowed her brow. "An' you're takin' Big Deal's advice 'cause…?"

There was a silence.

"Oh, right," Ice said sheepishly, scratching his head. "Sometimes I forget you ain't just any other girl like Clarice or Graz or one-a them."

Velma arched an eyebrow. "Really." Reaching out, she seized Ice's collar and drew him in for a very long, very intense kiss.

"Yeah," panted Ice when she finally let him go five minutes later. He gestured helplessly with his hands. "An' then ya go an' do things like _that_ an' I get to rememberin' again."

"Oh," smirked Velma, pleased. "Good." Then she frowned. "You really should go home an' sleep, though. Y'know I want ya to stay, but…"

"Vee," said Ice very seriously, gesturing toward her window with a theatrical sniff, "there ain't _no_ better way to get me well again."

Velma thought about this for a minute. "There _is_ that," she admitted. Then she giggled and pulled him in through her window. "C'mon in, then. Doctor's orders."

Ice grinned. "Well, if the _doctor_ says so…"

And Velma smirked. "She does."

.

Seriously, I have to go now.  
—B-but, what'd I just pour these drinks for?  
No. No.  
—Oh, come on, girl!  
No, no, no!  
—Wha—where you goin', girl? Hey, why you runnin'?!  
[laughs] Seriously, dude.

.

.end.

* * *

Music: I have about ten different versions of this song (because it is my very favorite Christmas song), but three go-tos, which are by:

1. Drew Holcomb and the Neighbors. See above video. Adorably sweet and just raunchy enough for a married couple. :)

2. Emilie-Claire Barlow ft. Marc Jordan. Very relaxed and pretty.

3. Danger Radio ft. Kathryn Claus. Because despite its date rape-y-ness, it makes me laugh like crazy, especially the ending conversation, as transcribed above. Seriously, it's hilarious and worth a listen just for that. :)

Also listened to: Meaghan Smith's "It Snowed" and Michael Buble's "Let It Snow."

Hint: One last chapter, and only one couple I haven't covered. I have no idea when it'll be up (since I have maybe three sentences), but I promise you. It will be.

love, viennacantabile


	9. nine: we need a little christmas

Disclaimer: **LCV Productions** owns Bernice and elements of Clarice, but everything else belongs to the Fab Five. :)

Note: OMG FINALLY. I'm really, really sorry, that's all I can say. Class plus lack of inspiration plus working on a huge chapter fic plus never having had an idea for this last chapter kind of killed this fic, but lo, a character revamp (which means I'll be revising previous chapters a bit) plus **HedgehogQuill's** establishment of Christmas in July and a do-or-die attitude today revived it. So since this is the product of about seven hours, I apologize for any quality lapses and hope very much that you enjoy the final chapter of the first longer-than-four-chapters work I ever finished.

For: **Megfly**, **xXc0okieSsNcrEamXx**, **SheWhoDreamsByDarkness-x**, **Ash Light**, **LoveforEliot**, and **UnaOnimousIsAwesome**, for being lovely enough to read and take the time to review. And most of all, for **HedgehogQuill**, who is pretty much completely responsible for this fic's being here. Merry Christmas in July!

—viennacantabile

* * *

merry christmas with love

nine : we need a little christmas

…_in which Clarice makes a big deal out of Gee-Tar._

.

For we need a little music,  
Need a little laughter,  
Need a little singing,  
Ringing through the rafter,  
And a little snappy  
Happy ever after,  
Need a little Christmas now.

.

One week before Christmas, 1956

.

"So what're you two doin' for Christmas?"

Clarice, curling the telephone cord around her fingers, blinked. "What?"

"What're you two doin' for Christmas?" drawled Pauline again. "It's somethin' good, right? It bein' Big Deal, an' all," she added lazily. "He's a charmer, that one."

Clarice pursed her lips. The truth was, she didn't know what, if anything, Frankie had planned for Christmas. Last year, he'd taken her for a sleigh ride on a very makeshift sled made out of a trash can and tinsel, and then he'd made her dinner, complete with a lumpy cake shaped like a snowman, and _then_ after he'd left through the door and said goodbye to her family, he'd dressed up as Santa, climbed through her window and asked her what she wanted. Before proceeding to give it to her. But this year…oh, she was going to see him, Clarice was sure of that, but he hadn't exactly said anything about anything special. Even though she'd hinted about maybe going to see the Rockettes at Radio City Musical Hall. "Well—"

"You should get a load-a what Ice's doin' for Velma," said Pauline with a tinkling little laugh. "He's been askin' all the Jets for advice, y'know. She's really got him on a string, don't she? An' here I thought he just didn't like girls," she sighed. "Oh well, at least now there's hope."

Clarice was just about to say that she really didn't think it was going to make a difference for Pauline what Ice thought of girls when a thought struck her. "He's doin' somethin' nice for her?"

"Yeah, it's some big secret," crackled Pauline's voice over the phone. "An' he an' Big Deal are real pals, y'know, so I figured I'd see what Big Deal was plannin'." She gave an airy sigh. "Y'know, it really is a shame he ain't single."

"Who?" asked Clarice, distracted for a moment.

"Well, _both_," Pauline said, as if no other answer were possible. "Ice's got that tall, mysterious thing goin' on, but Big Deal…well, he's a _big deal_, if ya know what I mean."

Clarice, feeling a little irritated at this reminder of Pauline's past experience with _Clarice's_ boyfriend, huffed. "A-_course_ I know what ya mean. You're a real pal, Pauline."

"Ain't I though?" said the older girl complacently. "So, what's he doin', then?"

Clarice's anger faded as she swallowed. She'd almost forgotten about Pauline's original question. But she wasn't about to admit that she didn't know the answer. Not to Pauline, at least.

"It's a secret," she said primly. "Frankie doesn't want anyone to know."

Clarice could almost hear the smirk in Pauline's voice. "Oh. Okay, then."

"What're _you_ doin'?" Clarice asked, feeling a little desperate. "Got any plans with your family?"

"God, no," snorted Pauline. "It's more like _who_ I'm doin'." She sighed happily. "There're a lot of 'em."

Clarice pursed her lips. She should have known better than to expect Pauline to be anyone other than herself. "Oh, right."

"Anyway, I gotta go," said Pauline lightly. "Lemme know when Big Deal figures out what you're doin'!"

And with that, she hung up.

Clarice's mouth dropped open. "The _nerve_!" she said aloud, grabbing a pillow and smushing it. "That—that—tramp!"

"What?" asked Bernice as she breezed into the room. "You done with the phone yet? I gotta call Graz."

"Pauline—Pauline was talkin' about Frankie like he was just any other guy she'd slept with!" sputtered Clarice. "An' then she started talkin' about all her dates for Christmas!"

"Oh," yawned Bernice. "Well, Mouthpiece'd better not be one of 'em. He's _my_ Christmas present this year."

"I can't believe her!" said Clarice, utterly miffed. "An' then she acted like Frankie wasn't gonna do anythin' special for Christmas—"

"Is he?" asked Bernice with interest.

Clarice reddened. "Well, I don't know," she admitted. "He hasn't said anythin' yet. But that don't mean he won't!" she added immediately. "He just—hasn't yet, that's all."

Bernice arched an eyebrow. "Okay."

Clarice squirmed. "Really!"

Bernice shrugged. "I didn't say anything."

"No, I mean it. You'll see," Clarice insisted, more to herself than her sister. "Just wait. Frankie'll give me the best Christmas ever."

.

But as Christmas drew nearer, Clarice only grew more discontent. Sure, Frankie _said_ he loved her every time he saw her, and sure, he wasn't exactly any less affectionate than normal, but he still wasn't saying anything about Christmas. It was like he didn't even know it was coming. And the more Clarice thought about her conversation with Pauline, the more she wondered. Ice and Velma hadn't even been together for six months and there was Ice, working his heart out to surprise her. Even Riff, Clarice was pretty sure, had something up his sleeve for Graziella, even if no one knew what. But Clarice and Big Deal had been together for a _year and a half_ and if anyone should have been planning something, it was Big Deal. And by Christmas Eve, she still couldn't understand it.

"I just don't get it," she sighed one day in Holliday's Soda Shop, glancing up at the counter where Big Deal was paying for her strawberry ice cream. "Why ain't he sayin' anything? You don't think he forgot, do ya?"

"Tell me about it," groused Graziella from across the booth, slurping her milkshake. "Riff still won't tell me what he's gettin' me for Christmas."

Clarice blinked. "But I thought ya liked surprises."

"Well, I don't _really_ want him to tell me," said Graziella with a sniff. "I just wanna know he's thinkin' about it, y'know?"

Clarice nodded, feeling perturbed. "Yeah. I know."

"I'm sure they're thinkin' about it," offered Gee-Tar from beside Graziella. Riff, upon being confronted with the prospect of last-minute Christmas shopping with his girlfriend, had gotten a very uncomfortable Gee-Tar to take his place. Which, of course, hadn't made Big Deal very happy. "I mean, if you were my girl, I'd wouldn't _ever_ stop thinkin' about ya. It," he corrected, flushing.

Clarice sighed. Even wimpy, pathetic, covered-in-shopping-bags _Gee-Tar_ knew something was off here. "Thanks, Gee-Tar. You're real nice."

"Yeah," Graziella said, rolling her eyes. "Now if you two excuse me for a minute, I'm gonna go get some more ice cream."

"Okay," Clarice said, feeling very glum as Graziella hopped out of the booth and headed for the counter.

Gee-Tar glanced around before leaning forward. "Y'know," he stumbled, "if Big Deal still don't say anythin'—I been savin' up, an' I got two tickets to the Radio City Music Hall show tomorrow at seven."

Clarice gasped. "But they've been sold out for weeks!"

"I know people in the business," Gee-Tar said, a touch of pride coloring his voice. Clarice stifled the urge to roll her eyes—Gee-Tar's band wasn't exactly known for being all that great. "But whaddaya say? D'ya wanna go?"

Clarice hesitated. Sure, she'd been wanting to go see the show for years, but Gee-Tar wasn't Big Deal. In any case, her boyfriend might still have something planned. "Well—"

"Hey," interrupted Big Deal, flashing an annoyed grin as he put a dish of ice cream on the table and slid in next to Clarice. He wrapped a possessive arm around her. "Where's Graz?"

Clarice barely heard Gee-Tar's mumbled answer. That was right, she thought, glancing between the two boys. _Gee-Tar_. Even though she had told the Jet she wasn't interested in him, he still kept hanging around her, much to Big Deal's annoyance. She could see that he was jealous right now, in fact. And maybe if she made it clear that she had other options on Christmas…

"Actually," Clarice said airily, doing her doing her best imitation of Pauline, "Gee-Tar was just askin' me to go see the Radio City Music Hall show with him tomorrow. On Christmas," she added, giving Gee-Tar a big smile. "Tickets're _real_ hard to come by; I don't know _how _he got 'em!"

Big Deal frowned, and Clarice felt his grip tighten. "Really."

"Uh, yeah," said Gee-Tar, shrugging. He turned to her. "I think you'd love it, Clarice."

"That sounds nice," she said sweetly, and cut her eyes to a scowling Big Deal, feeling very satisfied. "No one's ever asked me before, so I've never been."

Gee-Tar turned purple. "So—you'll come?"

"No, she won't," Big Deal interrupted, looking thunderous. "I an' Clarice got plans, buddy, an' you better stay outta them."

"Frankie," scolded Clarice, enjoying herself immensely, "that ain't very nice. He's just askin'."

"Yeah, an' you ain't sayin' no quick enough," snapped Big Deal, "so I'm sayin' it for ya!"

Clarice frowned, feeling a little annoyed. Sure, she didn't actually want to go—not with Gee-Tar, at least, but who was Big Deal to assume that? "Well, maybe I don't wanna say no."

Big Deal glared. "_What_?"

"I mean, I guess I don't mind if ya don't wanna go, Clarice," said Gee-Tar, clearly feeling uncomfortable. "I just thought I'd—"

"No," interrupted Clarice with a glare of her own. "You invited me, an' 'less ya don't wanna go anymore, I'm sayin' yes."

Gee-Tar looked surprised. "Well, that's great—"

"You ain't goin', Clarice," said Big Deal with a ferocious scowl. "I ain't lettin' ya!"

Clarice's mouth dropped open. "_Lettin'_ me?" she repeated, really angry now. "Who says you got a say in it? I ain't askin' your okay on this, Frankie, 'cause I don't need to! Who're you to say I can't go, huh?"

"I'm your _boyfriend_, that's who I am," snapped Big Deal, "so 'scuse _me_ for thinkin' ya might care about that!"

"Oh, really?" retorted Clarice. "Well, keep this up, an' ya might not be for long!"

There was a pause as Big Deal's eyes widened. Gee-Tar looked terrified. And Clarice's heart hammered—she knew she'd gone a little too far, but she wasn't about to take it back.

When Big Deal finally spoke, it was in a growl. "No girl-a mine—"

"_Don't tell me what to do_!" snapped Clarice, incensed.

Big Deal continued as though he hadn't even heard her. "No girl-a mine's spendin' Christmas with _Gee-Tar_," he said flatly. "You ain't goin', an' that's that."

Clarice narrowed her eyes. It took her all of ten seconds to come to a decision. "Gee-Tar," she said sweetly, "d'ya think we should go out to dinner before the show, or after?"

Big Deal's jaw clenched, and without another word, he jumped up and stalked out of the soda shop. Clarice watched him go, feeling triumphant even as she registered the sinking feeling in her stomach that told her exactly what she had just done. Sure, she loved Frankie more than anything, but it really had been all his own fault. Hadn't it?

After a minute, Gee-Tar gave her a feeble smile. "So…I'll pick ya up at five for dinner, then?"

"Five," Clarice confirmed with a scowl. "I can't wait."

And at that moment, Graziella returned with an ice cream sundae heaped high with nuts, fudge and a cherry. "Hey," she said, popping the cherry in her mouth. "Did I miss anything?"

.

"So," said Bernice that night as she plopped down onto the bed across from Clarice's. "A little birdy tells me someone's goin' to the Radio City Music Hall Christmas Show with Gee-Tar."

Clarice, already in her nightgown and tucked into her own bed, flinched. "Yeah, maybe."

"Thought ya didn't like Gee-Tar," said Bernice lightly. "Ain't that what ya told him?"

"Yeah," said Clarice, feeling frustrated. "But—I don't know, Bernice, it's such a mess."

"Oh yeah?" asked Bernice, sounding interested. She patted the space beside her. "C'mon, tell."

Clarice eyed her. The twins hadn't been quite as close in recent years—not since Bernice had discovered boys, at least—but when push came to shove, they were there for each other when it counted the most. So Clarice, still feeling horrible about the whole thing, crossed the room to her sister and got under the covers with her.

"An' that's what happened," she sighed after she had finished the whole story half an hour later. "An' now he's mad at me, an' I'm mad at him, an' I just wish he weren't so stupid, Bernice."

"Well, at least ya get to go see the Rockettes," said Bernice practically. She sniffed. "I can't believe Mama an' Papa still won't buy tickets. I know Cousin Bruno left Cousin Felicia for one-a the Rockettes, but that was _eight years ago_!"

Clarice moaned. "But I don't _wanna_ go. At least, not with Gee-Tar!"

Bernice rolled her eyes. "Then why'd ya say ya would?"

Clarice squirmed. "'Cause—'cause Frankie said I wouldn't!"

Bernice stared at her. "That's the stupidest thing I ever heard, y'know that?"

"He didn't even ask me if it was okay!" sputtered Clarice. "He just got all jealous an' said it _for_ me!"

"Clarice," her twin said very slowly, "don't you try an' make him jealous every chance ya get?"

"Well—yeah," Clarice admitted in a small voice. "But that's different. If I don't do that how do I know he's gonna pay attention to me?"

Bernice smacked her hand across her forehead. "_Dio Mio_, do you _listen_ to yourself?

Clarice frowned. Bernice just didn't seem to understand. "Why would I, when I got you to do it for me?" she said, rolling her eyes.

Bernice just shrugged. "Well, okay. But you're the one who's gonna be sittin' next to Gee-Tar on Christmas Day. It's your funeral."

Clarice winced. "I—I don't wanna talk about it," she said in a huff, getting up and retreating to her own bed. "It's almost midnight, anyway. We should sleep."

Bernice snorted. "Why, still believe Santa's comin'? Suit yourself."

Clarice grabbed a pillow and hugged it. It just wasn't fair, she thought, frustrated. Gee-Tar was a dope, but at least he cared about her. And Frankie was _her_ dope, but he didn't at all. He hadn't even said _anything_ about Christmas. What was she supposed to do, let him take her for granted like that?

And then she heard it:

"_Angels we have heard on high! Sweetly singin' o'er the plains!_" warbled Bernice, a wicked grin on her face.

Clarice, glaring at her through the darkness, narrowed her eyes at this reminder of the previous Christmas, when she _had_ been able to dodge Gee-Tar. "Bitch."

Bernice just smirked and glanced at the clock, which now read 12:01 AM. "Merry Christmas, sis."

"An' a Happy New Year to you, too," grumbled Clarice. With a sigh, she burrowed under the covers. A Christmas without Big Deal, she thought a little sadly, couldn't come and go soon enough.

.

It wasn't until the doorbell rang at five o'clock on Christmas day that Clarice actually realized what she had done.

"_Dio Mio_!" she hissed, grabbing her purse. "Bernice—"

"Yep," said her twin cheerfully, coming in the room, "it's Gee-Tar."

Clarice bit her lip, feeling torn. As she was getting ready to go she had had a lot of time to think about the argument, and Clarice had the smallest, slightest feeling that she had been a little bit more responsible for the fight than she had thought before. The truth, she thought miserably, was that she didn't care what Frankie had or hadn't planned for Christmas, as long as she was with him. She had been the one who had pushed him into being jealous, after all, so it was her own fault if he'd spoken for her. And all she wanted to do now was go and tell him that.

Clarice took a deep breath. "I can't go."

"But ya said ya would," Bernice reminded her, clucking her tongue. "It ain't nice to get his hopes up an' send him crashin' down like that again, y'know."

Clarice moaned. "I know, I know." And she did. On the one hand, she _really_ didn't want to spend Christmas with Gee-Tar. After all, Big Deal was really in the right—he shouldn't have been inviting another Jet's girlfriend to go with him. But on the other hand, she'd said she would go, and Bernice was right, too—Gee-Tar would be awfully disappointed. And it _was_ Christmas. How could she do that to him?

"Ya really do play with him, y'know," said Bernice, coming over and putting an arm around her. "I mean, I know I ain't no kinda saint neither, but y'do. An' then Big Deal gets mad, so that's jerkin' him around, too."

"I know," Clarice admitted in a tiny voice, feeling very wretched. She leaned into her twin. "I just—I wanna go say I'm sorry now, but he's here now, an' I'm stuck. What'll I do?"

Bernice sighed. "_Dio Mio_, Clarice, sometimes I don't know what I'm gonna do with ya. Out the window."

Clarice blinked. "What?"

"You heard me," said Bernice, waving toward the fire escape. "I mean, it's Christmas, an'—look, just go. I'll take care-a Gee-Tar." She hesitated, then muttered, "Wouldn't be the first time."

Clarice couldn't believe it. "But Mouthpiece—"

"Won't even notice if I tell him a story about trains or somethin' tomorrow. A-course, you owe me," Bernice said in a long-suffering voice. Then she smirked. "Anyway, I've always wanted to see if Cousin Bruno's little Tina is as tarty as Felicia says."

"I'll pay ya back," Clarice promised, hardly daring to believe her luck as she scrambled to put her coat and shoes on. "I will, I promise!"

"Yeah, yeah," said slightly pink Bernice, waving her hand. "Just go, will ya? I'm gettin' a toothache just lookin' at ya."

Clarice hesitated, then gave her surprised sister a quick hug. "Thanks," she murmured. "I mean it."

Bernice gave her a small smile. "Merry Christmas."

And Clarice smiled back. "Merry Christmas."

.

Halfway to the Schmidt apartment, Clarice caught sight of a tall, familiar figure and felt her heart leap. "Frankie!"

The figure paused, and headed her way. And Clarice waited nervously, her stomach in knots. What was he going to say? she wondered. What if he'd gotten tired of her? What if he was _glad_ she'd said all those things yesterday? What if he didn't love her anymore? She fidgeted as Big Deal reached her. "Frankie, I—"

Big Deal held up his hand. "No, wait, Clarice, there's somethin' I gotta say," he said in a rush.

Clarice chewed on her lip, fearing the worst. "But—"

"No, no," said Big Deal, shaking his head, "I'm gonna say it now, 'fore I lose my nerve, an' ya can't stop me 'cause if ya do I might not be able to get up the courage again. Clarice, I'm sorry," he said, reaching out for her. "Look, I know I got jealous an' said some stupid stuff, but jeez Louise, ya drive me crazy, y'know? I'm mad about ya an' I can't help it." He paused and gave her a shamefaced look. "Forgive me?"

Clarice couldn't stop the relieved smile that came over her face. "Forgive _you_? Frankie, it's all _my_ fault! I didn't even wanna go with Gee-Tar, an' I didn't mean any of it, an' I'm real sorry, Frankie!"

Big Deal shook his head. "_Schatze_, it's my fault."

"No, It's my fault," Clarice insisted stubbornly. "It's just I didn't think ya remembered about Christmas, an' everyone else seemed like they were gonna do somethin', an'—oh, I don't know, Frankie, it was just so stupid," she sighed. "I was stupid. Forgive me?"

Big Deal buried her in his arms. "Forget it," he said, shaking his head. "It's my fault."

"No, it's my—" Clarice began, then stopped sheepishly. "I don't wanna fight about that, either."

Big Deal grinned. "That'd be kinda sad. It's Christmas, did ya know that?" he asked, dropping a kiss on her forehead. "We're s'posed to be happy."

Clarice smiled. "Well, I am now. I _really_ didn't wanna spend today with Gee-Tar."

Big Deal chuckled. "I can't believe I almost made ya do that."

Clarice made a face and shuddered. "Yeah."

"An' oh—about it bein' Christmas," Big Deal said, scratching his head, "I know I didn't say anythin' about it this year. It's just—" He sighed. "I was havin' trouble thinkin'-a somethin'. Nothin' was good enough, y'know?"

Clarice melted. "Oh, _Frankie_!" she sighed. "That's so sweet!"

Big Deal grinned sheepishly. "An' then yesterday when you were so mad at me, I got to thinkin' about how I could make it up to you, and…there's this German church around my place that my folks go to. An' every year they have this Christmas service at night, see? With lotsa music an' carols." He hesitated. "It ain't the Rockettes, but…it's real pretty."

Clarice smiled. "Yeah," she said quietly. "I'd like that. It sounds nice." She glanced up at the darkening sky. "Do we still have time to make it?"

Big Deal put his arm around her. "Sure," he said. "C'mon, let's go."

As they began the walk to Big Deal's neighborhood, Clarice snuggled into him. "Frankie, let's make a rule," she said, feeling very penitent now. "Okay?"

Big Deal gave her a hopeful glance. "No talkin' to Gee-Tar, ever?"

Clarice blushed. "Well, no," she said, feeling guilty. "I was just thinkin'—alla this started 'cause we just got mad an' left each other that way without talkin' out what was botherin' us. How about we make it so that we don't ever walk away angry? We could—I don't know, kiss, or somethin'. That way, we won't _ever_ fight."

Big Deal looked thoughtful. "Ya mean like this?" Without any warning, he dipped her back into a very Hollywood kiss.

"Yeah," Clarice gasped when she was upright a few minutes later, trying to catch her breath. "Maybe like that."

Big Deal smirked as they began to walk again. "I could get used to that. Long's it's just us, an' no Gee-Tar," he said with a snort. "I don't think he'd be a real good kisser."

"Nope," agreed Clarice, feeling very warm. She wasn't about to stop making sure Big Deal paid attention to her, but at the same time, he was the only one for her, and she was glad he knew it. "Not like you."

Big Deal took that as his cue to demonstrate again. And several minutes later, when Clarice was back on her feet, she grinned.

"Nope," she said contentedly. "Nothing like you."

.

.end.

* * *

Music: I first heard this song in a Christmas production I used to do with my high school youth orchestra. I have since found a few fun recordings, two of which I'd particularly recommend: Patrick Wilson's version from the _Broadway Cares_ album (possibly just because it's fun hearing Raoul sing Christmas songs) and a very random but fun version from an iTunes album named _Caribbean Christmas_. Heh.

Hint: I do have a sequel planned. Which I am starting to doubt I will ever complete, but if I have time? It will so happen. Anyway, thanks for sticking with me all the way through, and Merry Christmas! :)

love, viennacantabile


End file.
